


Between Promise and Purgatory

by CR Noble (erudite12)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Eugenics, Gen, Graphic Torture, Human Trafficking, Imprisonment, M/M, Minor Character Death (multiple), SPN Dystopia Bang, SPNDystopiaBang2019, Self-Harm, Slavery, non-con medical procedures, uneducated!sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world where the rich have control of everything, including the people, and the poor don’t even own their own bodies, people with superior genetics are sold as breeders for the Gentry to keep their immortal bloodlines growing.Dean has lived in Purgatory his whole life, trying his best to protect his younger brother from the hideous truths of their existence, especially since their parents died while they were teenagers. So, when Sam is taken to be sold as a breeder, Dean doesn’t have a choice.With the help of the underground society known as the Network, Dean must face impossible odds if he is to save his brother.The risks are great, but he’ll do anything to save Sam.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to hit_the_books for claiming my story and making the art in Chapter 4 for it. You can also check out her art piece [here](https://hitthebooksposts.tumblr.com/post/185273078534/spn-dystopia-bang-art-2019)
> 
> A very special thank you to wendibird for dealing with my grammar and spelling fiascos.
> 
> I’d also like to say thank you to Kitty, Morgan, Mal, and everyone in the Writers of Destiel server of Discord because I swear I would never actually get anything written if it wasn’t for you guys.
> 
> I have two more really important people to thank because without them the universe in which this story is written wouldn’t exist. Thank you to my son, who asked the question that led to the creation of this AU, and to Michael, who helped me actually build it (and read my totally unedited first draft, bless his heart).
> 
> This was really fun and entertaining to write and I am so happy to have participated in the Dystopia bang because it was such a good opportunity to let my dark little heart run off with a story as much as it wanted to.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it

The black sky was dotted with sparkling stars over Dean and Gabriel as they sat outside on a wide, flat rock. Neither of them looked up at the sky. Gabriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands. Dean’s body trembled and his shoulders were hunched like he was trying to shrink into himself.

He’d been looking for Michael or Cas when he checked in at Lebanon, but it was probably for the best that Dean had found Gabriel instead. He actually had the resources to help. 

“Gabriel, please,” Dean begged, rubbing the back of his neck, “I need you to at least try. I don’t know what else to do.” He looked over at the man next to him, only the outline of his profile visible in the darkness of the night. He was glad that Gabriel couldn’t really see his face because he was on the verge of panic and tears. There was no way Dean wanted him to think he was that weak.

“I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never been there to buy before. People will talk,” he replied after a moment. “You have to understand, appearances are important. Especially for us.”

“I get it, but this is just as important.” Dean sighed, unsure of how he could convince Gabriel of how imperative this was. “Look, I know that some of the Gentry treat their people decently. But some don’t. And there’s no guarantee here, except for you.”

“This would be less of a problem if you’d told him, Dean,” Gabriel replied with a sigh, “but I will do this for you, okay?”

“Thank you, Gabriel.” The two men sat in silence for another moment and Dean stared up at the starry sky, far from relaxed. He would have to wait a week to find out if this scheme was going to work. But he had hope, at least, that maybe this wouldn’t end badly.


	2. Chapter 1

This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

The enclosure had once housed animals but had since been gutted of the stalls, and now Sam sat in it surrounded by twenty other Peons. There were no chairs or benches for them to sit on; no toilets, no beds. People littered the floor like errant debris, some sitting and others laying; none were very far from piles of their own filth. The stench of unwashed bodies and uncleaned waste was stifling in the windowless enclosure. He’d been there for days, waiting for the auction he shouldn’t be a part of. He was dirty and his already tattered clothes were now ripped and torn. Tired and hungry, he sighed with resignation, watching as the others huddled together trying to find some comfort. It didn’t matter, it would be ripped away from all of them soon. None of this was new or unexpected, but no one ever thought it would be them on the block.

The barn-like structure they were being kept in wasn’t far from the square and Sam could hear the noise of the gathering crowd. It wouldn’t be long now before the black-uniformed guards started pulling people out of the room one by one. This was how life worked for genetic desirables, though he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in that category. The poor paid the cost of immortality for the rich. Sam closed his eyes, trying to ignore the massive guns carried by the guards and rested his head on the wall behind him, waiting for a fate he had no choice but to accept. He only hoped his brother would be able to accept it as well.

Time dragged on. 

If the cell hadn’t been so noisy, Sam might have slept. It had been terrifying when the Collectors came for him. Dean had already left for work and there had been no warning, not even a knock. They hadn’t even announced themselves as they burst through the front door and found him in the kitchen. There had been four, maybe five men, Sam wasn’t quite sure, but two of them had grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him away. He’d kicked and screamed for help but, of course, none came. In Purgatory, people didn’t investigate when others screamed or when they heard furniture being overturned or thrown. Even when the Collectors were pulling him out of the apartment building, the people in the streets turned away and Sam understood why. They didn’t want to watch it happen but they weren’t willing to interfering.

When he heard the creaking of rusty hinges as the door swung open, Sam opened his eyes. Two guards walked in silently, eyes searching the room until they found the petite blonde woman they had come for. Each man grabbed one of her arms, yanking her to her feet and ignoring her screamed pleas and tears as they all but dragged her out. Others in the room were crying now, too, but no one really fought back. How could they? Emotions ran high, but Sam supposed it was to be expected when people were being treated like cattle.

They took four more people before it was Sam’s turn to go. He should have been angry when the guards approached him, or scared, but Sam felt strangely calm as he stood, towering over them as they led him out of the pen. The sand was rough under his bare feet as the guards prodded him forward with the unnecessary threat of their rifles. He blinked against the harsh rays of light and he was already sweating in the hundred-degree heat.

When he could finally see clearly again, Sam was being led up the stairs at the side of a raised stage. He looked out at the crowd of people. There were at least a hundred of the Gentry milling around. Some were there to purchase, others were just there for the show. He wondered how they could stand there, smiling, laughing, and conversing in their fancy dresses and suits while human beings were paraded across a stage for them like pigs at a livestock auction. His lips twisted into a disgusted snarl as they leered at him like they couldn’t wait to get their grubby little hands on him.

Beyond a chain-link fence, there was a much more somber crowd. Peons gathered to watch their friends and loved ones be sold off like so much chattel. Above the jovial buzz of the rich, Sam could still hear crying mothers and wailing children. Some of the braver people crowded against the fence, hard lines set into their faces as their eyes darted around, probably waiting to glimpse a son, brother, or sister one last time. He found himself searching those faces for Dean but stopped himself. He hoped his brother wasn’t there. And if he was there, Sam didn’t want to know. He looked away from the Peons, suddenly embarrassed to be presented to his own people in such a way.

The guards helped him up onto a pedestal in the center of the stage. Azazel, the auctioneer, stood next to the platform in a shiny gray suit. He looked over at Sam with a predatory smirk and his eyes gleamed yellow in the sun. Sam’s eyes widened slightly and his lips parted in surprise as he wondered if the color was natural. It wasn’t uncommon for the Gentry to modify their physical appearances. Looking at the exact same face in the mirror for centuries probably got old. He felt an old, ingrained hatred in his bones as he looked down at the grinning faces of the Gentry that teemed in front of the stage.

“This fine specimen,” Azazel began as he read from a tablet, “is twenty-three years old. He’s got genetic markers for high IQ, disease resistance, and I’m sure you can see his physique.” The auctioneer gestured toward Sam and winked at the throng as raucous whistles and yells rose from the Gentry. “He lacks genetic markers for mental illness. He is strong and virile. Good stock for Guards or Family. We’ll start the bidding at fifteen hundred credits.”

Sam couldn’t see the faces that matched the bidder cards as they flew up into the air over the heads of the throng. The price of his future rose rapidly. Apparently, he was popular. The fear he’d thought he didn’t have earlier was seeping into his bones now but he managed to look apathetic. He had no control over his fate today but Sam sure as hell wasn’t going to give any of these fat cats the satisfaction of seeing him scared. The bids kept rising. It felt like he stood in front of that crowd of vultures for hours before they stopped.

“And, sold! To bidder one fifty-three for sixty thousand credits!” Azazel shouted and a cacophony of cheers rose from the horde. Sam knew the auctioneer was still talking, but there was no point in listening as he was led numbly off the stage by two more armed guards. His eyes frantically searched faces, trying to see which one had made the final bid but there was no way to tell. There were far too many happy faces and he was taken away from the stage and around the corner too fast to sort through any of them.

That was it. 

His life was no longer his own. Bidder one fifty-three would force who knew what on him and own him forever. His jaw clenched. He’d never see his brother again.

* * *

Who the hell was bidder one fifty-three? All Dean knew was that it wasn’t Gabriel. But he’d been there, he’d raised his card. It had taken every ounce of self-control Dean possessed not to climb that godforsaken fence to get to Sam. He’d kept raising his card no matter how high the price had gone but Azazel hadn’t seen it while he’d counted down the sale. How had he not seen? It didn’t matter now. It was done. Over. There was only one thing he was certain about at that moment.

Dean was going to kill Balthazar. He was supposed to protect Sam, make sure this never happened. This was not the way things were supposed to go down. He paced the tiny kitchen of the apartment he and Sam had shared until the Collectors came a week ago. Dean had never even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He had to get Sammy back. 

It was utterly fucked that people were bought and sold as breeding stock, and Dean would never understand how a single person, let alone a whole society, could be okay with it. It didn’t make any sense that the Gentry had managed to keep their power for over a hundred years. Having control over death certainly gave them the upper hand, making it far easier to keep the poor masses under their thumb. Even when they saw the horrors firsthand, it was damn near impossible to open uneducated eyes to the possibility of change.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He needed to figure out where Sam was and how to get him out. Balthazar was Gentry, like all doctors. He might know who bought his brother. Once he had that information, he’d sneak out of Revelation for supplies and then he would save Sam. Hopefully, before anything unthinkable happened to him.

Dean slowly made his way to the only bedroom in the apartment and tried not to look at his brother’s side of the room as he laid on his bed. It was the middle of the day and normally he would be at work, but Peons were given the day off for auctions in their quadrant. The Gentry wanted them to watch and be reminded of their helplessness against the people in charge. Without work to distract him, Dean did the only thing he could to force thought from his mind. 

He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

“Turn the light on, Sammy,” Dean said groggily as he woke in darkness. Then he remembered; the trashed living room that had met him when he got home from work, the fear that had flooded through him when he’d run through the building and out into the streets calling for his brother, and the helplessness as he’d clutched at the fence at the auction and stared up at Sam with frantic eyes and tight lips.

Sam was gone. 

He sat up and threw his thin blanket across the room, letting the anger flow through him because it drowned the pain. It gave him the motivation to get up, pad across the room in his bare feet and flip the light switch. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked down at himself. The tattered gray t-shirt and holey jeans he’d been wearing since he left for the auction yesterday were still covered in a thin layer of grimy sand.

The hands on the wall clock indicated it was 6:35 AM. Far too early to call the Office of Assistance to get Balthazar out there. God forbid any Peons have a potentially lethal accident or injury in the middle of the night. There was no chance of medical care. Couldn’t get the Gentry doctors out of bed for someone of so little importance before 8 AM. At least that gave him time to figure out how to get Balthazar out there. It had to be something serious enough for the Office to actually send a doctor but not so serious that he would be less than fully functional. He would need all of his faculties intact to rescue Sam.

He mulled it over, brows drawn together in anger and consideration, as he ate a breakfast of dry toast. He could fake some kind of illness, maybe. An injury would be most effective, as long as it wasn’t too serious. He was still going to have to make a trip out to the Wastelands. Dean settled on that, glancing up at the clock again to see how much longer he’d have to wait. A few more minutes and he’d be on his way to some information at least. The last five minutes ticked slowly by as he waited, knife in his hand. 

The clock struck eight and Dean took a deep breath, holding tightly onto the back of a high chair as he dragged the knife across his forearm, deep enough that he would probably need to be stitched back together but not so deep that he hit bone. Trying to stay as quiet as possible, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped through his gritted teeth. The blood leaked in a sheet from the long laceration as he breathed through the pain. This was nothing, Dean had suffered much worse. It would serve its purpose. 

He wrapped a less than clean dish towel around his arm to stem the flow of blood as he walked over to the phone hanging on the wall of the kitchen. Examining the numbers on the keypad as he picked up the receiver, he couldn’t help but wonder why they were still there. No one ever used them. All calls went to the Office of Assistance. Of course, they’d had a purpose once, a long time ago, but now they were totally unnecessary.

_ “Mr. Winchester, how can we assist you today?” _ a falsely cheerful female voice asked. Every apartment and the phone inside had an identification number that was connected to the resident’s name. They always knew who was calling.

“I need a doctor. I… uh… cut myself.” Dean scowled, cursing himself for not thinking of an excuse beforehand. Fortunately, he was quick on his feet. “I was cutting vegetables and the knife slipped. It’s pretty deep and bleeding a lot.”

The cheery woman asked him a few more questions about his injury; where was it located, the condition of the knife, and whether he was able to control the bleeding. Dean gave perfunctory answers to all of the questions. Nothing more than what was required. Not that the bright voice on the other end of the phone actually gave a damn, anyway.

_ “Please remain in your apartment. Dr. Adler will arrive as soon as he is available. May I be of any further assistance?” _

“No, I just need the doctor, thanks.” Dean hung the receiver back up on the wall and went to sit in the chair he’d used to steady himself before while he waited. He was antsy, tapping the table with his fingers and squirming in his seat. Balthazar would move quickly once he saw who the patient was. At least, Dean hoped he would. Perhaps he would try to avoid going there, afraid of being confronted about what happened with Sam. Whatever the case, the doctor would have to show up eventually. So, Dean waited.

There was no knock at the door when Balthazar arrived, he simply walked in. The door had barely closed behind him and Dean was on him, shoving him roughly and pinning him to the wall with his unmarred forearm against the man’s throat. The doctor’s black bag thudded to the floor.

“Give me one good reason not to kill you right now,” Dean growled, trying to keep his voice low as he leaned into Dr. Adler’s trachea. The walls were thin and neighbors were not to be trusted. No one was to be trusted.

Balthazar raised his hands in surrender. He didn’t look afraid, his blue eyes only held sympathy. It pissed Dean off even more. “For one thing, I didn’t have to come here.” While it was a fair point that the doctor would know he’d been brought here deliberately, it changed nothing. Not for Dean. “I’m so sorry about your brother. I don’t know how this happened.” 

Dean could feel the rage pulsing through his veins, wanting him to damn it all and crush the doctor’s windpipe right then and there. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know how it happened?” He managed not to scream the words, though he had no idea how. “This is your fault. You were supposed to keep them from finding out. You promised.” His voice cracked and the fury drained from him, leaving nothing but crushing sadness in its wake. But he didn’t let the doctor down.

“I tried to, Dean, I swear.” Balthazar’s hands fell to his sides as his voice scratched through the pressure Dean was putting on his larynx. “I don’t know how they found him.”

“What do you know,  _ Doctor _ ?” Dean practically spat the title.

“Let me go and allow me to tend to your wound. I will tell you what little I do know.” 

Dean held him there, searching his eyes, trying to see into Balthazar, all the way to his soul. If he had one. The doctor practically oozed sincerity and Dean already hated himself for attacking him the way he had. They were on the same side. He sighed, just barely able to hold back the tears that blurred his vision. He sat in his chair again to unwrap the arm and held it up for examination.

Balthazar reached into his bag, pulling out a small, square scanner and a tablet. He strode over to Dean and scrutinized the gash with his own eyes before using the device to record pertinent information onto the tablet. He looked over the information as the tablet sorted and compiled it in a way that someone with proper training would be able to read it. With raised eyebrows, he looked up at Dean.

“This was intentional.” It wasn’t a question. Dean confirmed his statement with a nod and Balthazar shook his head, worried brows knit together as he stared at Dean. “That was foolish.”

“Had to get you here somehow, Doc.” Dean smirked coldly. “Now, fix my arm and talk. You said you were going to tell me what you know.” He didn’t care about the rest of it, Dean just wanted the information Balthazar had promised. 

“There is something bigger going on,” Balthazar began as he cleaned Dean’s wound, “I don’t know all of it but there has to be. I did everything I should have. I altered the record of Sam’s genetic profile. They shouldn’t have been able to find him.” 

Dean grimaced, hissing as the doctor’s scanner tool started to stitch his wound back together. “I’m gonna need a little more detail than that.”

“I am being watched. Someone suspects, at the very least, the work I’ve been doing for the resistance. Altering people’s genetic records, funneling people to Lebanon-the Wasteland headquarters, and the like. I don’t know how. I’ve been doing this for a century without being discovered. I am very careful.”

“Okay, so what’s all this have to do with Sam?” Dean looked at the now unmarred skin on his forearm, eyebrows raised as he opened and closed his fist to test the flex of the muscle there.

“Lucifer Milton bought your brother.” Balthazar turned away with a frown, packing his tools away into his bag. “What I don’t understand is why. I have known him for many years and he has never expressed any interest in reproducing. I can only imagine it has to do with his suspicions of the resistance.”

“Sam doesn’t know anything about that, Balthazar.” Dean’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion. He was on his feet again, already planning to skip out on work and head out to Lebanon. 

“I know.” As if he already knew where Dean’s plans would take him, he looked over his shoulder with a tight-lipped smile and continued, “I can give you the day off but we cannot meet again. I’ve already put in a request to be transferred to the Nazareth Quadrant. Good luck, Dean.” Balthazar was out the door before Dean had a chance to respond.


	3. Chapter 2

Sam spent almost as long in the individual cell as he had in the community cell before the auction. At least this enclosure was reminiscent of a room meant for a human being. There was a thin mattress set up on a cot against one wall and a light in the ceiling. Of course, Sam had no control over when the light would be turned off but at least it was there.

They never let him out of his cage but twice a day, a guard would unlock the door to bring in a tray of bread, cheese, and water. The first time he’d heard the rattling of the door opening, Sam had scrambled to the far corner of the room, hiding as much of his large form as he could behind the cot. It got easier as the time passed until eventually he just sat on the bed as the guard set the plate of food on the floor. He always ate it. There was no point in adding to his suffering by refusing the meager rations they brought him. 

He pissed and shit in a bucket in one corner that was emptied every day and wished he had soap when they brought in a basin of clean water to wash in just after the light came on. Most of his time in the light was spent pacing and his nails were bitten down until they bled. Nothing assuaged his anxiety. No matter how exhausted he was, sleep didn’t come easily. When the light was turned out every night, Sam laid back on his mattress and set his mind to trying to figure out who had bought him and why he’d been chosen for auction at all.

No one bothered to tell him who his new owner was, or spoke to him, really, so Sam was forced to use his limited knowledge of the Gentry to try and figure it out. Like every other Peon, he’d heard the gossip. Some of the Gentry treated their Breeders well, others were questionable. A few were wholly unknown. He supposed it didn’t really matter. Most of the time he tried to puzzle through repair jobs that he might have been doing, were he still employed as a handyman in Purgatory. He’d try thinking about anything to avoid wondering what would happen when his new owner took him.

Everyone knew that members of the Gentry were practically immortal but no one knew how. The rumors ranged from completely innocuous potions to potentially lethal surgeries. Sam didn’t really want to find out which but he probably wouldn’t have a choice. He was thirteen the first time he’d seen someone up on the auction block, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. Dean had tried to shield him from it, telling him he shouldn’t watch but Sam was a curious kid and he’d pushed his brother out of the way so he could see. He hadn’t even known the woman’s name but he recalled her close-cropped brown hair and the athletic physique under the dirty, threadbare clothes. Mostly, he remembered her posture, her expression, the pure air of defiance that had radiated from her. 

On one of the occasions that his job had taken him into the inner city, the Promised Land, recently, Sam had seen that woman again. She hadn’t aged a day in the almost ten years since he’d watched her on that block. But she had seemed… broken, for lack of a better word. Her face had been blank of any emotion, her eyes lackluster. Any fight she’d had in her before was gone. Without ever having known her, Sam could see that she was a shell of her former self even though she looked exactly the same. His friends said similar things about seeing people they knew within the inner walls. None of them ever seemed to age physically but all of them were broken.

Whatever the procedure was to imbue a person with immortality, it seemed that the effects were not at all worth it. But Sam knew it was possible that the personality changes people went through could have nothing to do with it at all. He supposed that a man or woman could be broken by their loss of freedom, at least their illusion of freedom. Whatever the case may be, Sam’s future did not look bright. 

And why had the Collectors come for him in the first place? He was nothing special. He was strong and taller than most, but surely that wasn’t enough? There had to be more to it than that, but what? Sam didn’t know. As far as he knew, he’d never shown whatever genetic markers the Collectors look for. Dr. Adler would have said something, right? Or Sam would have been taken after his first genetics screening when he was fifteen. Almost all of the peon’s that were collected were taken between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. Sometimes there were legal circumstances where children much younger would be collected, but Sam didn’t want to think about that either.

Sam was pacing again, in the middle of the small chamber, when he heard the click of the door unlocking. He stilled as a guard came in, carrying a pile of clothes instead of food. He dropped the pile on the mattress and turned to face Sam.

“Put these on. You’ll be transported to your master’s home soon.” The guard didn’t wait for a response, simply turned on his heel and left the room, locking the door behind him. Sam swallowed and his jaw clenched as he stared at the closed door.

Shaking himself and trying to slow his wildly beating heart with a few deep breaths, he walked over to the cot, eyeing the clothing that had been brought to him. The shirt and jeans weren’t fancy by any means but they didn’t have any holes or tears in them, and that was new for him. He quickly shed the clothes he’d been wearing for at least two weeks and put on the fresh set, glad to at least have something clean to wear, and the shoes that had come with them, wondering exactly how long ‘soon’ meant.

He folded his discarded outfit neatly and put it in a stack at the foot of the bed. Sitting on the low mattress, he clasped his hands together in front of him and waited, eyes darting anxiously toward the door every time he heard a noise outside. The time seemed to drag by, though it was hard to keep track without a clock. His toe tapped, physically marking his apprehension and impatience into the dirt of the floor.

The lock clicked again and the door swung open, revealing two armed guards. The closest one gestured for Sam to leave his cell and follow him. Not that he really had any choice but he did as he was expected, walking with one guard in front him and the other behind. They set a pace that moved them quickly out of the building and into the fading sunlight. Sam stopped short, taking an involuntary step back when he saw where the guards were leading him.

A few feet in front of them, there was a shiny black car. This was his transportation to his new home? He’d never even been this close to a car, let alone ridden in one. His heart thudded in his chest and sweat formed at his hairline. He didn’t want to get into that thing. It was probably a deathtrap. Dean was a mechanic, Sam had heard him talk about how fast some cars could go. It was insane!

“Let’s go,” said the guard behind him, prodding him with a baton to make him move forward. He resisted, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants and when the guard poked the baton into his back a second time, the electricity that passed into his body made him cry out and his body locked up as he fell to his knees. The baton was pulled away after a moment and Sam’s body sagged forward as the guard spoke again. “I said move.”

Sam nodded, unable to speak through his ragged breaths as he slowly pushed himself up onto his feet. He was still afraid as he climbed into the speeding deathtrap through a door that was held open by another guard. But even dying in the car would be preferable to another shock from the prod.

The interior was surprisingly comfortable, even with Sam’s size. As the car lurched forward, he found himself grasping for any handle he could find, something to hold onto to ground himself. He was surprised to notice that once he got past the sensation in his stomach caused by the initial movement, he could hardly feel it at all. He relaxed considerably as he stared at Damascus Quadrant racing by.

This would be the last time he’d ever see his home. Sam had never paid much attention to the dilapidated apartment buildings or the street-level storefronts but now he made every effort to burn them into his memory. It was still relatively busy as the sun set; people walking by, probably headed for their homes, children chasing each other in the streets under the fading light. He remembered when he and his brother would run around like that. Dean would climb onto the low rooftops of the rare stand-alone shops to jump off but he’d never let Sam follow. It was too dangerous, he’d say as he ascended to do it all over again. Sam smiled to himself at the memory. Dean had broken several bones that way.

It was dark when they arrived in front of a large stone front house. It was well lit by flood lights but Sam could still see the interior lights shining through the windows. He stayed quiet, licking his lips as the guards led him through the front door into a resplendent foyer. Everything was dark and rich. Thick, blood red drapes hung in the windows next to the mahogany door and a long carpet ran all the way through the antechamber. Sam was awestruck and he itched to take his shoes off and feel it beneath his feet. He’d never seen anything that looked so soft in his life. There was a tall grandfather clock against one of the walls, it’s hands and pendulum gleaming bronze. The warm lighting was just bright enough to show the full opulence of the deep colors, but not so bright as to offend the eye. The house was eerily quiet except for the sound of his own footsteps and those of the guards.

Sam walked in stunned silence, taking everything in with wide eyes. He was so used to the drab browns and grays that covered the homes of peons that all the color was a shock to his system. He couldn’t imagine how many credits he would have to save up for a single one of the drapes hanging in the windows. The dye alone would cost a fortune. Of course, the Gentry had always been rich and they’d had over a century to accumulate even more wealth, though how they managed it without doing any work whatsoever, Sam would never know.

The guards halted in front of a doorway leading to what appeared to be a sitting room. They were speaking in hushed tones to a bearded man who wore a similar black uniform but with a slightly different emblem, probably representing the master of the house. Sam didn’t bother listening to what they were saying, it didn’t matter. He just silently admired the beauty around him. Maybe this wasn’t all bad. His escort departed and he wasn’t sure what to do, so he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He looked to the household guard for further instruction, trying to smile politely. The man looked like he was maybe ten years older than Sam, his warm brown beard only graying a little at the chin. It seemed to soften his hard jawline and his blue eyes were kind. He smiled compassionately at Sam, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a little. It was an odd feeling, having someone look at him as though he were a human being for the first time in days.

“Come on in and take a seat,” the guard drawled in an accent Sam had never heard before, gesturing toward the open door, “Mr. Milton will be in shortly.” 

Sam’s polite smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he walked past the man. The sitting room was more of the rich luxuriance he’d seen in the foyer. He sat back into one of the thickly cushioned seats, shifting uncomfortably when it felt like he was sinking into it. He was used to the hard wooden chairs they had in the apartment he’d shared with his brother. He felt out of place in this soft, color-saturated house. It made him almost as uncomfortable as being locked up in that dingy chamber.

Even if he didn’t know much about the Miltons, Sam had at least heard the name before. There were at least two of them in the city. Lucifer and Gabriel Milton were both major authorities in Revelation. There hadn’t been much else to hear about them in Purgatory. Unlike so many other Gentry, about whom rumors flew, Sam had no idea whether they fell into the category of rich prick that treated their Breeders like walking garbage. He wasn’t sure which of the brothers he’d been purchased by. 

“Thank you, Lafitte.” The voice that floated in from the hallway was polite, if perfunctory. Sam glanced up at the man who was walking through the entryway. He was about as tall as Dean, maybe a little taller, with short blond hair. His clothes were as resplendent as his house, the deep navy blue of his button-down gleaming under the light. Sam wondered what kind of fabric had that kind of sheen. Mr. Milton, he assumed, settled into a chair across from Sam. He had the air of a king lounging in his throne as he silently watched Sam with pursed lips and hard eyes.

“Welcome to my home, Samuel,” he said, “Is there anything we can get you? Food or drink, perhaps?” He was speaking at Sam, rather than to him.

“Uh… I would really like some water, please ,  if that’s alright.” Sam shifted in his chair again. He seemed polite enough but his icy blue gaze was malevolently cold. It made him nervous. He sat as far back into the chair as he could manage and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Of course.” The man rang a bell and a short woman with long, curly brown hair appeared moments later, her face emotionless and eyes downcast. He repeated Sam’s request to her and she left the room again without speaking a word or looking up, only to reappear seconds later with a glass of water. Sam took it and thanked her, but she avoided eye contact and didn’t respond at all as she slowly backed out of the room. The expression on her face never even changed. Sam tried not to think about it. The water tasted different as he drained the glass. Was it because he was drinking from actual glass? He’d only ever had plastic back home. Glass was too expensive.

“Thank you,” Sam said politely when the glass was empty. He looked awkwardly for somewhere to set the glass down, eyes darting across the few flat surfaces near him, but nowhere seemed right so he held onto it.

“You’re welcome.” Mr. Milton leaned forward, smiling again. It seemed almost predatory and Sam wished he could move further away from him, but there was nowhere to go. “Now, I want to set a few ground rules. I am Lucifer Milton. Whether or not you’ve heard of me is not important. As long as you are in my house, you will call me Mr. Milton or sir. You will be available when I require it, and you will do as you are told. Is all of that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, nodding his head. He found that he was avoiding eye contact in much the same manner as the maid.

“Very well. I’m sure you could use some rest. Lafitte will take you to your room.” He rose elegantly from his chair as he spoke and waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

As he watched Lucifer’s back going out the way he’d come in, Sam pretended he didn’t dread tomorrow’s conversation or see the feral glint in his new master’s eyes. 

A moment later, Lafitte peered in and smiled warmly at Sam. “Alright, come on.” 

Sam stood and followed the guard out of the room and up the stairs. He was led down a long hallway with many doors to a room near the end. It was much more modest than the rest of the house seemed to be. The walls were a muted blue and the only furnishings were the bed, a nightstand, and a wardrobe, all plainly crafted. Sam sighed, feeling an immense sense of relief. This was much more Sam’s speed and despite everything being so wrong, he relaxed considerably.

“Thank you, Lafitte,” Sam said, turning to face the man who immediately smiled at him. He seemed too friendly to be working for someone that appeared as avaricious as Lucifer.

“Only Mr. Milton calls me that,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, “everyone else just calls me Benny.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips. “Thanks, Benny. Good night.”


	4. Chapter 3

Although he’d been anxious to be on his way, Dean had been even more interested in making sure no one was alerted to anything out of the ordinary. He’d paced in his apartment, checking the clock far too often and waiting until after the lunch hour to leave. Purgatory was the biggest part of the city and without a car, it took him several hours to reach the nearly deserted streets around the outermost edge of the circular city. The sun was already dipping below the horizon and crickets chirped.

It was quiet along the outer wall of Revelation. Patrols every twenty minutes inside the wall were staggered with twenty-minute patrols outside the wall but they only kept guards posted at the gates. If one knew the pattern of the patrols, it was easy enough to find a way out without getting caught. This wasn’t the first time Dean had been here. He had memorized patrol patterns a few years ago and he used that to his advantage, watching from the shadows until a pair of guards, armed with rifles, made their way past him.

“Man, this is such a boring job,” one of them complained to his partner, “nothing ever happens at the wall.”

“Nothing ever happens anywhere. Unless there’s an assassination attempt.” The first one chuckled and shook his head, and then they were out of earshot. 

Dean jogged quickly over to the wall, pulling a small cylinder out of his pocket. Trusted members of the Network were given a special sonic device used to activate a passageway. When set to the proper frequency, it produced sonic waves that controlled the movement of the wall at the molecular level, pushing them away and creating a pathway large enough for an adult to go through. It allowed them to create doors anywhere along the wall that could be closed at a second’s notice, leaving them completely undiscoverable. The only way the Gentry would find out is if they caught someone red-handed. It had happened before, inclining the resistance to start regularly changing the frequency requirements of the sonic machine.

He turned a dial at the bottom of the cylinder, tuning to the current frequency and held the tool out in front of him, pointing at the wall. Dean was always surprised by the efficiency and silence with which the path was made. Nothing the normal peons had access to would be able to do something like this. They’d be lucky if they had a saw to try and cut through the stone, he thought as he ducked into the passageway.

The first time Dean had done this, he’d expected to be able to see the world outside the wall as soon as the doorway opened. In reality, the wall was much thicker, and it took several minutes to cross, which was why he had to know precisely how long between the inside and outside patrols. If he didn’t come out at the right time, not only was he a dead man but he ran the risk of exposing the Network. That couldn’t happen.

When he reached the end of his little tunnel, Dean checked both directions just to be sure there were no patrols in sight before he came out, turning the dial to change the sonic frequency and close the doorway. He surveyed the area for anything he could use as cover until he was far enough from the wall that they wouldn’t be able to see him. According to the books he’d devoured during his past visits to Lebanon, their city was built on what used to be a road, a highway that was once called I-80. The sands of the Wasteland had long since overtaken it but there were still signs of its existence. The rusted hulls of abandoned cars peeked out of sand dunes and there were occasional signs that hung far above his head from huge metal poles. 

Dean had seen pictures of what the highway had looked like before the Originators had discovered the secret of immortality. The signs used to point the way to different places so people who were driving would know where they were going. But now, the painted letters and colors had been blown off by the decades of wind and sand, leaving only the silver sheen of the metal beneath. He had to navigate by the stars, the only relative constant in the ever-changing desert of the Wasteland. 

The higher sand dunes and some of the cars provided the cover Dean needed to move away from the city without being detected by the patrol that would be passing by soon. Lebanon was about a forty-five minute trip from the wall and once the wall was out of sight, there was little chance of being seen so he took the most direct route, only veering from the path to avoid climbing over large obstacles. The entrance to headquarters was disguised as a huge sand dune. By setting his sonic device to another frequency, he activated the door, watching sand fall around it as it swung open.

Before the rise of the Gentry, the place had been some kind of secret bunker, maintained by members of the national military force when the land they lived on was called the United States. Gabriel had located the bunker purely by chance and founded the resistance there over a century ago, even though he’d been entirely on his own.

“Identify yourself.” The voice came from the other side of a thick plexiglass window with a small grate in the center which allowed sound to pass through. Dean was pleased to see yet another new face behind it. 

“Dean Winchester, RS56328.” His designation had been assigned by Michael when he’d been recruited and it was his main form of identification within the Network. Upon giving it to a security specialist at the entrance, a scan would commence, checking his DNA against what they had on file, ensuring that he was who he said he was. With the constant influx of new members, it would be impossible to keep track of everyone by name. 

“Entry granted.”

Dean waited for the inner door to open on its well-oiled hinges, barely making any noise. He nodded and smiled at the kid working security and walked through, heading immediately for the training area. 

The underground shelter was expansive, almost a city unto itself, providing living quarters, food and standard storage, multiple training areas, and other rooms of unknown purpose. There was still an armory full of guns and body armor, though many of the recruits still didn’t know how to use them. That’s what he and Michael were there for. Dean wasn’t a high ranking member like Michael but he learned fast and he was good with guns, so he often assisted Michael with the recruits on the shooting range.

That night, Dean was headed to where Michael oversaw hand to hand combat training. If he was going to get any help to rescue Sam, Michael was the one he had to get on board. If he did that, everyone else would follow suit. He stood in the doorway of the room they called the Pit and scanned the faces. The room was sectioned with square mats and each section held two people. They were practicing various strikes and throws that Dean had mastered some time ago. He recognized most of the faces but as always there were new ones here and there.

Searching for his friend and mentor, he skirted the mats and headed toward the office at the back of the long gymnasium. The bunker was as simplistic as the apartment he occupied in Damascus Quadrant but where everything about Purgatory was dull, dirty, and reeking of poverty, this place was clean with a metallic sheen and rich in a simple, unadorned way that Dean had never seen before, not even in the Promised Land. Michael was sitting behind an unembellished steel desk, paperwork spread out before him. His head rested on one hand, fingers threaded into his dark hair, as the other held a pen that flew as he jotted notes into one of the files.

He was not alone as Dean expected, instead, an equally dark-haired man stood in front of the desk, facing Michael. He knew protocol would have him wait until the meeting was over, but he recognized the second man and was sure that neither of them would mind. He rapped on the open door with one knuckle and smiled genuinely for the first time in days as both men turned their eyes to him. 

“Dean!” Michael rose from his seat, quickly crossing the room to embrace his friend. “We were starting to get worried. It’s been a while since we saw you.”

Dean chuckled as Michael released him, looking over into the blue eyes of his best friend. “Castiel, it's good to see you.” A moment later, he was being encircled by another set of arms. Cas and Michael spent most of their time in Lebanon but they did occasionally venture into Revelation or further out into the Wastelands, whether it was for Intel or something more sinister. When they were all together, they made sure their affections for each other were known because, despite the fact that Dean had yet to be on a mission, the constant danger of the life he was choosing to live couldn’t be denied. They never knew if it was the last time they’d see each other.

“I was here last week but you guys were out in the Wastelands,” Dean explained, speaking loudly enough for them to hear him over the commotion of training that spilled through the open door. The three of them crossed back toward the desk and sat to talk more. “They found out about Sam. The Collectors came and took him just over a week ago.” Michael leaned forward over his desk, eyes wide with surprise. 

“What? How is that possible?” Castiel asked calmly, head tilting to one side as his brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought Balthazar forged all of his records.”

“Gabriel didn’t tell you? I talked to him when I was here.” Both men shook their heads and waited for Dean to continue. “Balthazar did forge the records. I talked to him, he doesn’t know how they found my brother.” Dean sighed, looking away and splaying one hand over his face. “Zar said he’s being watched. Someone suspects his connection to the Network.” They exchanged meaningful looks.

“If that’s the case, more of our people will be in danger. As will their families.” Michael’s voice was low, calm, and steady. It belied the intensity in his eyes as he spoke.

Dean nodded, though truthfully he hadn’t thought of those people at all. His only concern at this point was his brother. The rest could be addressed later. He realized, though, that this would make it that much harder to convince them to help him rescue Sam. They would be more interested in protecting as many sympathetic people as possible. 

“Lucifer Milton bought Sam at the auction yesterday.” 

Cas balked at the statement. “Dean, that’s not good.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He knew his friend meant well and he really hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but all the emotions he’d been shoving down for the last week were starting to bubble to the surface and he couldn’t help it.

“I mean that makes the situation much worse for your brother.” Cas was as calm as ever, raising his hands in a placatory gesture. “Lucifer has a reputation for cruelty and manipulation. He doesn’t stop at the physical, either. He prides himself on breaking people, Dean.”

The color drained from his face and his blood ran cold as Cas’s words sank in. “We have to get him out of there. Zar was convinced that Lucifer is the one that’s onto him.”

“If Lucifer is, in fact, the person who is having Balthazar watched, we need to know what he knows.” Michael rested his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together so tight, Dean could see his knuckles turning white. His lips pressed into a frown and he closed his eyes tightly for a moment.

“Well, let’s go then! We can kill two birds with one stone.” Maybe this would be easier than he thought. ”We can go right now!”

“That would be stupid, Dean. We need to wait.” Castiel’s voice was firm but his eyes were sympathetic.

“I need my brother.”

“Yes, you need your brother.” Michael opened his eyes, standing and walking around to lean against the front of his desk where he was close enough to reach out and grab Dean’s hand and squeeze it. “But this is Lucifer Milton we’re talking about. You can’t just go in guns blazing. We need intel. And then we need a plan.”

“What the hell happens to Sam while we gather intel, Michael? Lucifer tortures him? Maybe drives him insane? Maybe kills him?” Dean wasn’t sure when he’d stood up but he was nose to nose with his friend, jerking his hand back and yelling so loud that he didn’t notice at first that the noise of activity in the Pit had ceased.

“No one wants that. But, Dean, this would have been a lot easier to prevent if you had told Sam about us.” Cas put a hand on Dean’s arm as he spoke, pulling him less than gently back into his chair. 

Dean looked up at his friend through narrowed eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Cas silenced him with a tilt of head and a firmly raised hand.

“If you want to save your brother, we have to do this the right way. If we don’t have a plan, you will die before you ever get to Sam.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hear any of this even if he knew they were right. He wanted someone to be as gung ho as he was about going in on a rescue mission but the more he thought about it, the more his anger deflated. He didn’t even know where Lucifer lived, let alone where he might be keeping Sam. He needed more to go on. Sighing, he looked away from Cas.

“Fine. How do we get the intel?” The wrathful edge had left his voice and the noises of combat once again cascaded through the door.

“I have an old friend who is sympathetic to the cause.” Cas was a master strategist and he nodded to himself as he spoke like he was already formulating possible approaches. “Benny will be able to get me the information we need.”

“In the meantime, Dean, you should go back home,” Michael interjected, “If Lucifer is already suspicious of Balthazar, he might easily become suspicious of you, especially if you disappear for several days.” Dean opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by a hard glare. “It will only make things worse for your brother if that happens.”

He didn’t feel any need to continue the conversation so Dean embraced his friends again and left the Pit the same way he’d come in. He didn’t want to go home yet and it was still early so he headed to the mess hall, accepting a tray of the mush they called sustenance in this place and sitting at an empty table. Despite the way it looked, the nutritious mush actually tasted pretty good, so Dean continued to eat. At this time of night, at least three-quarters of the shelter’s population would be asleep. Soldiers could train at any time, day or night, but most of the ones he knew were night owls.

He was silently contemplating what could be happening to Sam and wishing he had something to stab when someone sat down next to him at the table. A glance over into honey-gold eyes told him it was Gabriel and Dean sighed. He shouldn’t be angry. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. But logic wasn’t a factor in the way he felt. Avoiding eye contact, Dean continued to shovel food to try and hide the hard lines of rage on his face.

“Hello, Dean,” Gabriel said with a small, sad smile. “How are you holding up? I tried. I think the auction was rigged.”

That made sense. Dean had been able to see Gabriel raising his bidder card high in the air but Azazel had completely overlooked him. Maybe Lucifer had paid him in advance.

“I’ll be fine. We’re gonna get him out of there.” Dean didn’t look the man in the eye when he spoke, he just looked at the tray in front of him and took another bite.

“I have to advise against that.” Gabriel’s voice was stern, his tone a clear warning. “I know you care about your brother but trying to extract him from Lucifer’s house is a mistake.”

“I’m gonna have to tell you to shove it,” Dean replied with a sneer, turning to lock eyes with the constructor of the revolution. He was already tired of everyone telling him to stay put and wait. “He’s my brother, and I will save him from that monster.”

“If you do that, you’ll be putting everyone here at risk. Everything we’ve worked for. It's way above you, Dean, and there are things that are infinitely more important than Sam.” Gabriel did not back down and Dean’s hand fisted around his spoon.

“If it's so above me, why don’t you get off your high horse and do something to help? I mean something to really help all of us peons that you care so much about,” Dean’s sardonic tone was harsh, even to his own ear, but he didn't care. They stared at each other in tense, tangible silence. “No, I get it.” Dean sneered. “You want to support your cause and do what’s right until it's time to get your hands dirty. You leave the dangerous grunt work to us, while you sit up there in your little ivory tower and pretend you’ve done enough to save your soul. So, don’t you dare sit there and tell me there are more important things than my brother because, to me, nothing is more important than Sam.”

Gabriel stood, the small man somehow managing to tower over Dean in his righteous fury. “I don’t care? Everything I do here is a risk, Dean. A risk I don’t have to take, a risk that gives me nothing in return. There are thousands of people at risk, you stupid, insolent boy. Sam Winchester is a grain of sand in an endless desert, so don’t you dare sit there and tell me that he is more important than everyone here risking their lives to do what’s right for people they don’t even know. For people who don’t even know that they have someone fighting for them.” Dean looked away, unable to look into the eyes that burned with the intensity of Gabriel’s anger and offense. “Your father would be so disappointed.”

Dean turned away from him, carrying his tray to the little window by the dishwasher and shoving it through roughly before leaving the cafeteria. Despite the fact that he knew Gabriel was right, he couldn’t stand the thought of sharing the same planet with him at that moment, let alone the same underground military facility. He stalked straight out the front door of the bunker and made his way back to the city.


	5. Chapter 4

Sam woke up on his own, no alarm or knock on the door, no Dean telling him to turn on the light. For all the complaining he’d done about being woken by his brother, Sam wished that he could experience that right now. He missed Dean fiercely and without him he felt more alone than ever. Sighing, he rolled out of the bed and peered into the wardrobe, which was filled with rows of shirts and jeans identical to the ones that had been provided to him when he’d left the auction house. He’d never seen so many articles of clothing in one place, especially not ones that were intended for him.

Taking advantage of the abundance of clothes, Sam changed into a clean outfit and decided to head out of his room in search of food. When the door to his room swung out, he noticed a woman standing against the wall across from his room. Her long blonde hair hung down, covering the shoulders of her black guard’s uniform and obscuring the emblem on her upper chest.

“Good morning.” She met Sam’s tentative smile with a disdainful sneer. He was friendly by nature but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe he could expect the same of others. The smile fell from his lips as he stared at her.

“My name is Ruby Cassidy. I’m the Chief of Mr. Milton’s personal guard.” Her indifferent tone grated Sam’s nerves. Why was she even here, introducing herself to him if she didn’t care? “I’m here to show you to the rooms you will be allowed access to. We’ll start in the kitchen.” She turned on her heel and started walking away, never turning back to see if Sam was following.

He stared after her, slack-jawed, for a beat before taking a few steps to catch up with her. She moved quickly but Sam had much longer strides and was able to keep up at an easy pace. She didn’t speak as she led him down the stairs and through another corridor, which opened into a large, open kitchen.

“You may eat your meals here. With the exception of today, breakfast will be served at seven o’clock sharp. If you’re not here, you don’t eat. Lunch is at twelve thirty and dinner is at six o’clock. Again, if you aren’t here at those times, you don’t eat. Understood?” She looked at Sam with sharply narrowed eyes, waiting for his response. 

He nodded his agreement, mostly ignoring her sharp tone. The tight scheduling of meals was nothing new to him. When he and Dean were young, their parents would be gone for days at a time sometimes. They’d had to rely on communal dispensaries for food when that happened and if you weren’t there at the right time, there wouldn’t be enough food left. Sam had been lucky to have a brother like Dean, though. Whenever there wasn’t enough for both of them to eat, Dean gave his portion up to make sure his younger brother was well fed.

Ruby’s hair swished as she turned and started walking again, leading him through yet another hallway. Even with a decent sense of direction, it was going to take some time for Sam to get used to this place. It was so vast compared to the small apartments he’d spent his life in. The next place the unfriendly guard showed him was a small sitting room. It was for him and the other Breeders Lucifer owned, she explained. 

Sam peered in and saw two men sitting on a couch. One was tall, probably almost as tall as Sam, with a hard, square jaw and short dirty blond hair. He was looking down at the other man, who was shorter with dark, messy hair and a similarly strong jawline. Sam looked away, feeling like he was intruding on an intimate, private moment between them. So, there were other Breeders. He wondered when he would meet the lady of the house as he followed Chief Cassidy through the rest of the rooms. At least one of them was a small garden area outdoors. He stared longingly through the door, grateful he would be able to at least spend some time outside in the sun and fresh air.

Ruby led him back to the kitchen at the end of her tour and turned her hard eyes back toward Sam. “There will be consequences if you are caught in any part of the house you aren’t authorized to be in.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid them.” He sat in a chair at the table in one corner of the kitchen as he spoke and looked away from Ruby, shrinking in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. The Chief Guard made him almost as uncomfortable as Lucifer. 

“Good. I have better things to do than babysit.” Without another word, she turned and left him alone.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. Was it okay for him to get himself food? It would have to be for today. He didn’t see anyone else around to help. In fact, the large house was strangely quiet and empty. His footsteps echoed through the kitchen. Last night when Sam had followed Benny up the stairs to his room, he’d just assumed everyone was asleep. Now, though, he could see the sun was well into the sky when he looked out the window. He would have thought that a home this size would be bustling, a constant hum of activity. But the only sounds were the buzz of electricity in the lights and the occasional heavy steps of a guard. In fact, it seemed that most of the people living in the house were guards. Where was the rest of the Milton family? Surely if there were other Breeders, there would be children.

He might not be educated but Sam wasn’t stupid. Something wasn’t right here and it nagged at him, a puzzle to be solved. He didn’t have all the pieces yet. Before he had time to consider it further, he heard the soft tread of socked feet.

The two men from the sitting room appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, the taller one’s arm was wrapped around the other’s shoulders. They stopped, looking up at Sam and the shorter man smiled, shrugging the arm off and approaching to offer Sam a hand to shake.

“Hello,” he said as Sam took his hand in a firm grip, “we saw you with the Chief and though it only proper to introduce ourselves. I’m Arthur Ketch.” He looked back over his shoulder at the other man, who hadn’t made any move to join the conversation. “Don’t mind Gadreel. He’s not as… forward as I am.”

“Sam.” He waved shortly at Gadreel. “So, um, am I okay to just grab some food? The Chief didn’t say.”

“I don’t believe anyone will mind. You’ll just have to search until you find something. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.” Arthur smiled at Sam again and returned to Gadreel’s side, allowing the larger man to envelope him again as they turned to walk away.

Sam watched them disappear around a corner before turning back to the kitchen. Perhaps he could talk to them later, maybe get a little more information. For now, he opened cabinet after cabinet, trying to find something that wouldn’t be too terribly missed to eat. Nothing but time. Sam settled on a few slices from a loaf of bread he found. It wasn’t long until lunch, so that would tide him over just fine.

As he wandered in what he was pretty sure was the direction of that sitting room Chief Cassidy had shown him, Sam munched on his bread. He was pleased that he located the room on his own with relative ease and he ducked in to get a better look at it. There were several cushioned chairs set in a neat semi-circle around a wooden coffee table. They were similar to the chairs he saw in Lucifer’s antechamber the night before but Sam could tell by looking at them that they were not of the same quality. The color wasn’t as deep and the fabric didn’t have the same sheen to it. Brushing his fingers across the padded back of one of them confirmed his thoughts. They were rougher than the more expensive chairs in the other room.

The coffee table was a dull, dark brown and Sam could see surface scratches and rings in the wood. The furniture was clearly well used and less well cared for. He looked up, past the furniture in the center of the room and saw that one wall had shelves built into it. They were lined with what looked like books. Sam wondered if they were real. He’d never seen so many in his life. Approaching the shelves with wide eyes, he ran a reverent finger down the spine of one of the books, wishing he knew what the golden letters said. Having them in a room that was meant for Breeders was an open taunt. Peons were forbidden to learn how to read or write. Hell, they were only allowed to learn numbers if it pertained to their profession.

“You must be new,” a husky female voice said from behind him. Sam jumped. He’d been so enthralled by the rows of books that he hadn’t heard the footsteps behind him. The woman was smiling at him when he turned around, her curly brown hair framing a young, round face. She wore the same style of dark jeans as Sam, as well as the matching gray t-shirt. Arthur and Gadreel had been wearing them, too. If she was a Breeder, it must be like some kind of uniform.

“Uh, yeah. I got here last night.” Sam smiled back and reached out toward her, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Sam.”

The woman took his hand in hers. “Meg. I’ve been here for…” A shadow passed through her features and her smile fell away. “A long time.” She dropped his hand and glanced over his shoulder. “Looking at the books?”

“I’ve never seen so many.” Sam turned back toward them as he spoke.

“Kind of a slap in the face if you ask me.” Meg was falling back into a chair when Sam turned back to her again. He liked her. She reminded him of his brother. Dean was not a fan of the Gentry and had no problems making it known. Of course, he always tried to shield Sam from the worst of it. Sam made a mental note to learn more about whatever had happened to her here, whatever had caused that dark look. If she’d been here for a while, she could probably answer some of his questions.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sam slowly lowered himself into a chair across from her, watching her expression. “So, is it just the four of us? Or are there more Breeders?”

“Just the four of us. Ketch and Gadreel have been here longer than I have and mostly keep to their rooms.” Meg shrugged indifferently. “I haven’t gotten tired of this room yet. Or the garden.”

Sam nodded and opened his mouth to respond when a guard he didn’t recognize appeared at the door. The man looked at Meg with a perfunctory smile before turning to Sam.

“Mr. Milton requires your presence. Follow me.” He seemed much more polite than Ruby had but less friendly than Benny. Sam stood, shrugging apologetically at his new friend, and followed the guard out the door and through the corridors to a room he hadn’t seen yet. It was strangely sterile and bland compared to the other rooms of the house. There was a single chair in the center of the room but Sam had never seen one like it before. 

It was long. The chair would support his large body from head to feet if he sat in it and it looked like it was adjustable, though Sam wasn’t sure how. He stood off to the side, eyes wandering the bare walls as he waited for Lucifer and wondered what he was supposed to be doing. Fortunately, Mr. Milton didn’t leave him waiting for long. The man’s shirt was a deep royal purple that day and looked no less rich than the shirt from the night before. His presence caused Sam to grimace in discomfort and he hadn’t even spoken yet. It was his eyes. No matter what the expression on his face was, his eyes cut into Sam’s soul like icy daggers.

“Sit down,” he commanded coldly, gesturing toward the strange seat and watching closely as Sam approached it. 

He only hesitated for a moment before carefully lowering himself into the thing and leaning back. Sam gasped in surprise as the chair moved, slowly laying itself and it's occupant out flat. Lucifer silently walked over and reached under the chair, pulling up what looked like a leather strap, which he crossed over Sam’s chest, tightening and fastening it so Sam was tightly bound to the chair. 

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest, he didn’t like having his movement restricted, and he wanted to say something but understood that it didn’t matter if he was comfortable with this. He didn’t get a say. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to slow his rapidly thumping heart as Lucifer used more of the leather straps to bind his limbs to the device. There was no explanation, no words were spoken at all. Just the cold glare and cruel smirk of this man who owned Sam and could do as he pleased with him.

Lucifer walked away from him and Sam couldn’t see where he went as one of the leather straps held his head in place, keeping him from being able to turn it. A moment later the blond man reappeared with a large needle in his hand. Sam struggled against the straps, unable to control the panic bubbling inside of him.

“No! What are you doing?” Sam asked, fear tingeing his voice as his muscles bulged in an effort to escape whatever the needle carried. It was futile, the leather held him stiffly in place, vulnerable to his captor’s assault. The needle jabbed sharply into his neck and he grunted at the radiating pain. It seemed that Lucifer held the needle in its place forever, emptying its contents into Sam against his will. Though his suspicion didn’t fade, relief still flooded Sam when he felt the pull of the needle sliding out of his flesh.

“Nothing to worry about, Samuel,” Lucifer said finally as he walked away, presumably to discard the needle. “Just a harmless little virus. Interesting that something that used to be an instrument of human destruction turned out to be the secret of immortality, don’t you think?”

Sam’s heart pounded against his chest again at that. He’d been right. The peon woman he’d seen before had been made immortal like the Gentry. Now he was being made immortal, too. It felt wrong, though he couldn’t really put his finger on why.

“See, this little virus actually changes your DNA. Deletes the genes that make you age and die, and modifies genes that are related to immunity. Ironic isn’t it. A virus that makes you immune to disease.”

Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing. He just stayed silent, wondering if Lucifer was going to continue or let him out of the chair. Wondering if all these changes to his DNA were going to hurt. He squirmed under Mr. Milton’s icy gaze. How long would he have to stay like this? Based on the unmasked cruelty he could see in Lucifer’s eyes, Sam was sure if he asked to be let out he’d end up stuck there for even longer, so he smartly kept his mouth shut. If he didn’t do anything stupid, he might learn a thing or two about Lucifer. Though, at the moment, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

“You see, Samuel, I have questions for you. And I’m not sure you’re going to want to answer them. But now, we’ll have all the time in the world to talk.” Lucifer chuckled darkly, a malicious twinkle in his eye and a wide, menacing smile on his face. “And no matter what happens as long as I don’t lethally injure you, I can question you as many times as I like.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with surprise and fear. Some part of him expected Dean to burst through the door at any second, save him from this lunatic. But he knew that wouldn’t happen-- couldn’t happen. He was on his own. There was no way for his brother to save him. What answers could he possibly have for this man? He knew next to nothing other than how to do his job. Milton couldn’t possibly be interested in that. He cringed when his new master laughed again, almost maniacally. He reached out, running a finger down the side of Sam’s face.

“We’re going to have so much fun.”


	6. Chapter 5

Dean was walking down the crowded main road on his way home from work when a stranger knocked into him hard enough to put him on his ass on the ground. He looked up, anger fading into surprise when his eyes took in the delicate features of a small woman with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was clearly stronger than she looked. She reached down to help him up and while he didn’t need the assist, Dean accepted the hand graciously.

“I’m so sorry,” the pretty girl said, smiling up at Dean now that he was back on his feet. “It’s hard to see the path with the sun in your eyes.” Dean didn’t have to look to know there was no chance of the sun being in her eyes at this hour. She was headed in the wrong direction for that. He was familiar with the code, though he’d never had to use it before. He smiled warmly at his seeming compatriot.

“It’s alright, walking with your eyes closed would be true folly,” he responded as prescribed. He took his time dusting himself off, covertly giving her time to deliver whatever message she was here to give him. The peons around them went about their ways, paying no attention to the two of them, and the nearby guards barely noticed them. 

“The path home often becomes most clear at night, when the moon is at its highest.” She nodded at him once before leaving in the direction she’d been headed in when she collided with Dean. He didn’t bother staying to watch her go. He got the message loud and clear. He was needed in Lebanon that night. It had been two weeks since his last visit, maybe Cas had heard back from his contact in the Guard. Somehow, he managed to carry on like everything was normal. No one asked him about Sam. No one asked how he was handling things. They just looked at him with tight, sad smiles and eyes full of pity. Dean hated it.

If the strange visitor was any indication, soon it wouldn’t matter.

* * *

 

It was past eleven when Dean made it to the headquarters. As he approached the War Room, he heard raised voices inside.

“You can’t be serious, Castiel!” a young, male voice shouted. Dean stopped, just out of view of the people in the room.

“I am absolutely serious, Max,” Cas responded, calm as always, “he’s one of the most skilled soldiers we have. We need him.”

“He’s too close to this. It makes him a liability.” Dean recognized the voice. It was the woman that brought him the message that they needed to meet. They were talking about him. They had to be.

“Cas, they’re not wrong,” Michael said, “it’s dangerous for him to be involved.”

Dean bristled. Of all the people, he’d thought Michael would support him. He was the one who suggested they make it a two-fold mission. And now he was saying Dean shouldn’t go?

“I understand the risks, Michael,” Cas replied, “but if it were John we wouldn’t even be having this discussion. He is his father’s son and it’s the only way to guarantee Sam will leave with you. And you know as well as I do that if we don’t include him, he’ll just do something insanely reckless like follow you on his own.”

“I agree with Cas.” Dean heard Alicia say. “Besides, Max, how would you feel if it was me in there. You know you would insist on being part of the rescue mission.”

Dean didn’t want to stand outside and listen to the bickering anymore, so he stepped into the room and looked around. Everyone stopped talking and turned to him. “I am going on this mission.”

“Dean,” Michael said, standing.

Dean silenced him with a raised hand as he tilted his head and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself so he wouldn’t scream at his friend. Regardless of how he felt about it, he knew Michael had the best interest of his team at heart. “I am  _ going _ on this mission.”

He sat in one of the chairs placed around the large oval table in the center of the room, waiting for Michael to return to his own seat. The top of the table was actually a screen, and nearly anything could be displayed on it as long as they had the image on hand. Apparently in the old days, they used it to display maps of the entire world, tracking troop movements and covert operation locations. The Network had no need for world maps, though. They had several detailed maps of Revelation, including maps of the inner city and each of the four quadrants of Purgatory. They even had a few maps that came from Wastelanders that were sympathetic to the Hunters. 

The silence carried on for a few minutes after Dean took his place to the left of Cas. The blonde from earlier that day sat on Dean’s other side. Dean looked her over. She was new but she was clearly strong, and she exuded competence. He was surprised to see her at the table, given that he’d never met her before. Meetings like this usually only contained the highest ranking members of the resistance, which included him as Michael’s right-hand man.

“Hello, Dean,” she said when she saw him looking at her. He nodded at her, unsurprised by the fact that she knew his name. She would’ve had to know who he was to find him inside the walls.

Cas looked over at them impassively. “Dean, this is Jo Harvelle. She’s a Wastelander and a brilliant strategist. I thought she might have some good input on this mission.”

“Nice to meet you, Jo. We need all the help we can get.” Dean smiled. He was genuinely glad for another person who might be able to help him break Sam out of Lucifer Milton’s house, so he tried his damnedest to put aside the fact that moments ago she’d argued that he not be allowed to be a part of the mission. The room was full of the smartest people Dean knew. If anyone in the world could help him rescue his brother, it was them. “So, are we gonna get started? I’d like to know what you found out, Cas.”

“Of course.” Cas stood and leaned over the table, supporting himself with two hands against its surface. “Thank you for coming, everyone. Before we begin, I want to make sure everyone here understands that due to the extremely dangerous nature of this mission, no one is being ordered to participate. We are asking for volunteers and we will understand if you choose not to be a part of it.”

“Yeah, we know. Can we get to the part where you tell us what the hell we’re supposed to be doing?” Charlie tapped her fingertips impatiently against the table as she spoke. He knew Cas was just making sure everyone was comfortable with this but they all knew they were about to do something dangerous. Everything they did was dangerous.

“Very well.” Cas pushed a button on the edge of the table and the screen displayed a large blueprint. “Benny was able to get these blueprints to Lucifer’s house for me.” He pointed to a small square in the center of the image. “This is his office. Anything he has on Balthazar and any other Handlers or Hunters is likely to be in this room. According to Benny, he keeps a computer in this room, so in addition to searching for any paper documents that might be useful, someone will also have to copy the hard drive.” He looked around at everyone as he spoke, his hand moving to a different area of the layout. “Here is where the Breeder’s rooms are. If we strike at night, this will be where we find Dean’s brother.”

Dean looked closely at what looked like a hallway, according to the notes on the prints, on the second floor. They were going to have to get in and out as quickly as possible, so whatever team they had would have to split up to complete both objectives. Jo stood, taking over for Cas.

“There are three points of entry. Here, here, and here,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing at what was clearly the front door, then a side entry, and finally a back door. “Obviously, we can’t just march in through the front and this back door leads to a garage, so this is our best bet.” Her finger tapped against the side door. She was serious, professional, and commanding. No wonder Cas had brought her in for this. “According to Cas’s source, this door leads out to a garden. He says it's got lots of bushes and a few trees, so plenty of cover and the only way we have a chance of getting in and out discreetly.”

“Okay,” Michael began, “what about once we’re inside? There will be guards to deal with and it's not like we’re going to have copies of the floorplan with us. Not to mention the fact that we are going to have an extremely limited amount of time to do this.”

“That’s true.” Cas was speaking again. He and Jo seemed to blend seamlessly, each picking up where the other left off. “The office is on the first floor. The team will have to split up here, at these stairs. One group will go retrieve the intel, the other will go upstairs for Sam. Then they will rendezvous at the bottom of the stairs and leave the way they came in.”

“As for the guards,” Jo picked up, “Benny says that while most of them are loyal to Milton, he has a few that he trusts to help us. He will meet you at the garden entrance and guide you through the house.”

“Are you sure we can trust him, Cas?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to put his life or the lives of the team in the hands of a stranger, much less his brother’s. But Castiel was a good judge of character and if he said they could trust this Benny person, then Dean would, too.

“I would trust him with my life,” Cas replied sincerely. His eyes were cast down at the table, moving aimlessly across the displayed designs. After a moment’s pause, he continued, “Benny is the only reason I got out of the Promised Land alive.” It was a good enough endorsement for Dean, at least for now, and the rest of the team seemed to agree.

“What about communication?” Charlie piped up again. “If we split up after we get inside, we’re going to need something, otherwise both teams will basically be sitting ducks. Do we have access to the kind of wireless transmitters the Guard use?”

“Not exactly,” Cas replied, “even with Gabriel’s funding, our tech is years behind the Gentry, in some cases, decades. Fortunately, Kevin is working on something for exactly that purpose.”

“What do you mean he’s working on it?” Dean's knee bounced impatiently under the table. “We don’t have time for that. We need something now.”

“Dean, we won’t be able to move on this for another week,” Michael said quietly, “not if we want the best chance of getting ourselves and your brother out alive.” 

Dean leaned forward and opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by a hard look and raised hand from Cas.

“I understand your impatience, Dean,” he said, “but Michael is right. According to Benny’s information, one week from today, Lucifer and several of the guards most loyal to him, including Chief Cassidy, will be away on business in Genesis. Benny will be left in charge in her stead, which will allow him to smooth things over some for us.”

“Cas, my brother has been there for almost a month now!” Dean’s anger lifted him from his chair and he gestured widely with one arm. “Who the hell knows what has been happening to him, and you’re telling me to be patient?”

“Dean.” Jo laid a hand on his arm and he shook it off, turning to look at her.

“Don’t you even think about starting with me. Five minutes ago you didn’t think I should be on the damn team.” His voice was low and threatening. “I don’t even know who the hell you are so you got no right telling me what I should be doing here.”

Jo was not the type to back down, Dean realized when she got right up in his face, so close he could feel her hot breath against his skin and smell the coffee she’d been drinking before the meeting began. “Stow your shit, Winchester. You might be going in there for your brother but the primary objective for the rest of the Hunters in the field is securing that intel. You’re just along for the ride, so you wanna get Sam back alive, this is how it happens. And for the record, I still think you’re a liability.”

It took all of his effort to clamp down on the urge to slap the girl stupid but Dean had to admit, if only to himself, he was almost as impressed by her as he was angered by what she’d said. Jo wasn’t wrong and he knew it. Hell, they wouldn’t have touched the situation with a twenty-foot pole if Dean hadn’t dropped that tidbit about Lucifer eyeballing Balthazar. They weren’t going to sacrifice the whole Network for one man, even if that man was family. Even if he understood, it sure as hell didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Dean,” Alicia said, emotion heavy in her voice, “We’ll get your brother out of there.”

Dean ignored Alicia, glancing past the little blonde girl, jaw and fists clenched, only to be met by the pleading blue eyes of Castiel. He opened his mouth to say something smart but thought better of it. It wouldn’t help. Jo was right; to get what he wanted he had to play by their rules. Trying to breathe deeply through his gritted teeth, Dean looked into the hard, determined eyes of this woman who had become Castiel’s right hand for a long moment before turning away and sitting in his chair. The tension still hung heavy in the air but no one brought it up as they continued planning.

There was more back and forth about equipment, most of which they were lucky enough to have on hand before Cas pressed another button on the table. The image on the screen became a layout of Revelation, starting from the wall surrounding it. Getting in and out was easy enough if it was only one or two people at a time. Getting a six-man team through the wall, Purgatory, and into the Promised Land was a completely different animal.

“The team will enter here,” Cas said, pointing to a small circle outside the city limits. It looked much closer to the wall on the map than it actually was, Dean knew. “With this many people, the sewers are the only way to get in undetected.”

“That’s gonna be a long trek to the Promised Land,” Charlie mused, eyebrows raised slightly. The sewers were, for lack of a better word, disgusting. Besides the obvious, they were neglected and in horrible disrepair. “What are we going to do about the smell? It’s gonna stick, and that will be a dead giveaway that we’re in the house.”

“Fortunately we have a man on the inside. As I stated before, Benny will be waiting for the team at the garden door. He will have a scent neutralizer, which will not only take care of the stench of sewage, but it will also neutralize the natural scents of the team members, so they won’t be able to use the dogs to track us.”

“Speaking of tracking,” Kevin chimed in for the first time. He was practically a child, barely eighteen, and he was thin and bookish. He looked ridiculously out of place next to all these people who had trained for an eventual battle for their entire adult lives. In his case, looks were decidedly deceiving, though. The kid was a genius and he was confident enough that when he opened his mouth, everyone in the room listened to what he had to say. “ Cas said earlier that I am working on comms devices for the team to use for this mission. It’s taking some time because I am trying to make sure that they will be untraceable, which is proving to be a little more difficult than I anticipated.”

“Can you do it?” Dean asked. He didn’t doubt Kevin’s abilities, but time was running short and he needed to be sure.

“Of course I can do it. The difficulty stems from basing our tech on their tech. It's still quicker and easier than trying to build something completely from scratch. They’ll be ready.” 

“Good.” 

Michael stood as he took control of the meeting. The tabletop screen flipped to a map of the inner city, and he pointed to a spot relatively close to Milton’s property. “The team will consist of six of us: Dean, myself, Jo, Charlie, Max, and Alicia. This is where we’ll come out of the sewer. We’ll have to move quickly and carefully to remain undetected. Once we get inside Lucifer’s house, we will split into two teams at the break-off point here.” He pointed to the same spot at the bottom of the stairs that Cas had. “Dean, Jo, and Max go for Sam, while Charle, myself, and Alicia go for the intel. Comms will be active at all times and we will meet back at the rendezvous point. Assuming everything goes according to plan, we should have two extra people when we leave. Benny’s going to have to come back with us.”

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about trusting so much to this one guy inside Lucifer’s house. Cas might vouch for him but it still made him uncomfortable. He was even more uneasy at the idea of bringing him back to Lebanon when this was all over. Desperate times, he supposed, and if this Benny really did come through for them, well, making sure Lucifer didn’t kill him was the least they could do. He listened, silent and intent as Michael continued.

“We should be able to go out the same way we go in. Kevin and Castiel will be monitoring comms from here. The hardest part of this mission will be not getting caught between the house and the sewer.”


	7. Chapter 6

Sam tried unsuccessfully to hold back the cry of pain that bubbled up as the knife dug into the flesh of his forearm. The more noise he made, the more Lucifer seemed to enjoy it. Sam struggled to pull away but his binding was tight. Even knowing he had no answers, Lucifer still asked questions. Mostly questions that Sam didn’t really understand. Another draw of the knife across Sam’s exposed skin had him crying out again. The half-healed scars from… a week? two weeks? of knives slicing through his flesh were ripped open again, his blood flowing freely from them.

Sam wasn’t sure how long Lucifer had been bringing him back to this room. When he wasn’t being interrogated, he was out of it from the pain. He only remembered things in flashes; the other Breeders taking care of him, helping him recover from his injuries as much as possible. There was no way for him to know how much time passed between the torture sessions. Hell, he didn’t know how much time had passed since he was allowed to wear clothes.

“I already told you,” Sam bellowed as the blood welled from the cut and streamed down his arm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” There were few enough fresh cuts that his suffering abated relatively quickly into a dull ache. His mind was still sharp enough for Sam to focus on the things Lucifer let slip in his questioning. He paid as much attention as he could, knowing that it wouldn’t last long. It never lasted long. 

“I find that very hard to believe,” Milton replied. With a lascivious groan, he licked the blood that remained on the blade and closed his eyes like he was savoring the taste of it. He tapped the tip of it against Sam’s chin with a vicious smile on his face before digging into his captive’s cheek. “You and your brother are very close. Why wouldn’t he share this kind of information with you?”

When the torture sessions began Sam thought Lucifer’s idea that Dean was involved in some kind of resistance was ridiculous. But the more time his mind was given to process it, the more reasonable it became. 

All his life, Dean tried to shelter him, protect him from the atrocities that existed in their world. He had said a lot of things that didn’t quite fit with the life of a Peon. More than once, Sam had woken in the middle of the night to see his brother’s bed empty. He’d always assumed Dean was spending his nights in the arms of a woman. At least, until he remembered that he’d never seen the older Winchester show any interest in any of the women in Damascus Quadrant. There had been other signs that something was going on with Dean, but Sam had chosen to ignore them for all these years, and his brother certainly wasn’t the sharing type.

Sam attempted to wrangle his ideas into some semblance of order but it was hard with the steady onslaught of Lucifer’s blade. It would tear at his flesh and all the pieces of the puzzle would fall apart again and again. He tried to breathe through it like Dean had taught him when they were teenagers but it was impossible to prepare himself when there was no pattern to the laceration. 

Each cut was coming at random in a new place, bringing a fresh wave of suffering along with the cries and groans that Sam couldn’t hold in. Somehow, when the slicing of the knife was broken up by Lucifer’s sinister laughter, he still managed to put his thoughts back together again.

Very occasionally, over the years, Sam remembered his brother saying things. Nothing that had seemed important at the time, but as he let himself drift back now, he recalled wondering where Dean could possibly have learned those things. 

The knife slashed again, across his bare chest, interrupting his puzzling once more. His body jerked involuntarily as a dark stream covered his skin and another grunt escaped through his gritted teeth. He ignored the racing of his heart.

“Look, I don’t even understand why you think my brother would be a part of this so-called resistance.” He was defiant, guarding the notions formulating in his mind while still seeking new information. Sam was almost there, he could feel it. “He’s just a mechanic. There’s nothing special about him. Or me.”

“Aha, that is where you’re wrong, Sammy, my boy.” Lucifer dragged the knife across his chest again, admiring the asymmetrical marks like a work of art. “You and your brother are special enough. In fact, if it wasn’t for Balthazar, you’d both have been sold long ago.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He tried to hide his interest with surprise. Maybe this Balthazar person was how Dean had gotten into… whatever this mess was. “Who the hell is Balthazar?”

Lucifer’s eyes were wild and he giggled, recklessly slashing Sam’s bicep. His effort to remain silent made what would have been a shout come out as a pathetic, whining gasp.

Leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees so Sam was staring straight into his eyes, Lucifer smirked wickedly. He reached forward, swiping a finger through the blood on Sam’s cheek. “You know, the sounds you make for me are just--” His lips closed around his finger and his eyes closed with a pleased moan as he sucked the blood from it “--delicious.” He stood again, laughing as Sam cringed. “I suppose if you know nothing about your brother’s little… insurrection, you wouldn’t know him by his first name, would you?” The blade was close enough to Sam’s face that he tried to jerk away when Lucifer waved it flippantly as he spoke. It was terrifying. The man was so casual. “You’d only know him as Dr. Adler.”

Sam’s jaw clenched as his assailant gripped the blade, almost at the tip, and leaned forward over him. His muscles tightened in the fruitless effort to get away from whatever pattern the knife was carving into his thigh. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as his face contorted in pain and his heart thudded heavily against his ribs as a strangled sob constricted his chest. 

If the pain wasn’t holding his jaw tight, Sam would have been staring in open-mouthed surprise. Dr. Adler was the doctor serving the quadrant where he and Dean grew up. He’d been Sam’s doctor for as long as he’d been alive. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place in Sam’s mind. It would definitely explain why Dean had sometimes seemed like he knew more than he should.

“What does he have to do with this?” Sam asked when he could breathe again.

“I’ve been watching him.” A fresh cut sent another pang singing through Sam’s nerves. “For decades now.” The agony was almost overwhelming and his ability to focus was flagging. “I noticed a pattern. Peons disappear everywhere the little doctor goes.” Lucifer’s fingers walked across the fresh wounds on Sam’s thigh as he spoke, making him see stars and lose track of reality for a moment.  “And it's never the useless ones. Always genetic desirables, or at least the ones that are good enough to keep around for labor.”

His captor licked the blood off his fingers again with a satisfied  _ mmmm,  _ like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of Sam’s pain, before setting the knife on the floor beside him. It was nauseating. Sam’s entire body was a flayed nerve, barely holding on to the present. It was getting to be too much. 

The bright, cheerful sound of his tormentor whistling as he dug around in a toolbox Sam hadn’t noticed before startled him and the reflexive tightening of his muscles sent a new shock of pain through his body. Things clanged against the sides of the toolbox, loud and metallic. Apparently, Lucifer was ready to move on to something more interesting than a blade, finally pulling a set of rusted pliers from the mess.

“You know, technology has advanced so much over the centuries,” Lucifer said, gesticulating with the pliers. “But when it comes to torture, I prefer to stick with the old ways. So much more fun!” His nose crinkled as he smiled proudly. “It’s an art, really, bringing people right to the brink of death and holding them there.” 

Sam could feel the pressure in his fingertip as the pliers squeezed tightly at the nail. His apprehension was purely instinctual, the knowledge that what was about to happen would be infinitely more agonizing than the cutting had been was inherent. His breaths came impossibly fast and shallow, his eyes widened and pupils dilated with fear, and despite his best effort, Sam heard his own voice begging for Lucifer to stop.

His torturer only laughed at his pitiful pleas, slowly prying the nail from its bed until the agony was blinding and Sam screamed, almost-- _ almost _ \--drowning out the sickening tear as it separated from his finger. Unable to think beyond the raging ache, he could do nothing but let the moments pass. He could barely even wonder how long Lucifer had been talking when he started comprehending words again.

“Anyway, how do you think I found you? I pulled all of Balthazar’s patient records, and it turns out he  _ altered  _ yours.” Lucifer roughly prodded Sam’s bloody cheek with the pliers. “Your brother’s, too. And a lot of others, but they’re not important. You Winchesters are the only ones with altered records that are still in the city.”

His head swam as Lucifer continued his onslaught, pulling the matching fingernail from the other hand as he spoke. Everything was tinged in agony, making his skin vibrate and his ears ring. He struggled to keep his eyes open, focus on his tormentor’s words.

“... you always just went about your day like any other peon, but your brother? He would disappear, sometimes for hours at a time. Nowhere to be found. And my people could never explain to me how he’d been able to shake them…” 

Sam was on the brink of losing consciousness but he fought hard to stay awake. He was in and out, only picking up snippets of Lucifer’s monologue. 

The bored frown on Lucifer’s face. 

Sam was entirely raw and it was all-consuming.

“... no fun anymore…” 

The words bled through in shorter and shorter spurts, and Sam finally let his heavy lids fall.

“... attention…” 

“...in here, Lafitte…”

“...upstairs…”  

Sam’s mind refused to release him into the black oblivion of unconsciousness. He was trapped in an in-between state, his body on fire, every slight movement sending fresh waves of torment crashing through him. He didn’t notice the loosening of the ties, but it must have happened because he hit the floor and his muscles spasmed trying to escape the overload of stinging and pressure on the wounds as Sam was jarred. His eyes opened just barely enough to see a pair of black boots in front of his face and then they fell heavily closed again as he was being lifted off the tile.

His head lolled as he was carried between two hard bodies. The tops of his feet dragged across the floor as the men supported his full weight but Sam didn’t have the energy to try and walk. His toes hitting the edge of each step sent sparks of anguish up through his ankles and calves as they headed toward the Breeders’ wing. Someone was talking in a deep, soothing voice but Sam was too consumed by the agony to know who it was or what they said. His back pressed against something, and whoever had been holding him up was gone. He wanted to pass out, just to get away from the trauma that was inflicted on his body.

Soon, there were other, more familiar voices in the room, though he wasn’t sure where he recognized them from. It didn’t matter anyway, he just wanted the pain to stop.

“... Gad, pass that…” A woman’s voice. Mom? No, that wasn’t right. His eyes fluttered open and Meg’s face hovered blurrily. In a sudden moment of clarity, Sam wondered if it was just the pain that was making him dizzy or if Lucifer had drugged him. “... lot of blood…” Wet pressure against his shredded thigh seared through his mind, drowning all thought. If it had been possible, Sam would have been grateful when the blackness of oblivion swallowed him.

* * *

Sam’s body hurt when he woke. Deep in the muscle, in a way he was becoming more and more used to. When was the last time he hadn’t ached? The fingers Lucifer had used the pliers on throbbed. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was covered in bandages. They itched against his unmarred skin and stuck to his wounds. Sam wished he was back home in the Damascus Quadrant. At least there, the doctor would have given him some painkillers. 

He breathed as deeply as he could without sending fire licking at his nerves but it was difficult. Laying still was… less difficult but still uncomfortable. His mind was still foggy and he kept his eyes closed and half-hoped he would fall back to sleep until he was completely well. Even through his grogginess, he knew it was wishful thinking. Didn’t stop him from trying, though.

Between his silent assessment of his own condition and the dazed state he couldn’t seem to shake, it took Sam a few minutes to realize he was not alone in the room. The hushed tones of conversation carried to his ears easily in the quiet room, now that he knew they were there. It helped cut through the haze, waking him more fully and allowing him to focus.

“He really seems to have it in for this kid.” Sam recognized Gadreel’s voice, even though he hasn’t heard much of it. Ketch was probably there, too. The two of them were practically inseparable. 

“Yeah, he’s never done any of us this bad.” Meg is there, worry tingeing the alto of her voice. “At least not yet.”

“The last time it was this bad was Samandriel.” Ketch sounded muffled like his face was covered, and Sam imagined he was probably leaning into Gadreel for comfort. They all sounded anxious, though whether they feared for themselves or for Sam was unclear. He wondered who Samandriel was and what happened to him.

“That was before my time,” Meg said.

“This is different, I think.” Gadreel sighed. “Milton appears to want something from Sam. With Samandriel, he was just…”

“Having fun,” Ketch finished bitterly. “He really just took it too far. He was still young, he had less control then.”

“Yes, Samandriel was like… an experiment for him. When the experiment was over, he learned what he felt he needed to and discarded the rest.” 

Sam could hear the tension beneath the carefully controlled calm and softness of Gadreel’s voice. It was clear he’d been there for… whatever Lucifer had done. How long ago was it? How long had Lucifer been buying people just to torture them for fun? How many had died?

For the first time since the auction, Sam felt a burning need to fight against his fate, to rebel. There was no doubt in his mind that he would die if he didn’t find a way out of this place. He might be functionally immortal but that didn’t mean he couldn’t succumb to injury. But how could he get out? 

Even if he made it out of the Milton house, he had no idea where he was. The Promised Land was a labyrinth of enemy territory. He would never make it back to Damascus, let alone somewhere else. He didn’t even know what somewhere else would mean. Were there other cities? Where could he possibly go?

The Resistance?

The Wastelands? 

Hopelessness overtook his thoughts, no matter how he tried to stuff it down. It made Sam angry. What the hell was the point of it all? Why had the others bothered to fix him up? It was meaningless. When he healed enough, Lucifer would just take him back into that room and cut into him again. If it wasn’t him, it would be Meg. Or Ketch. Or Gadreel. None of that was acceptable to Sam. Not only had they gone out of their way to help him, but they sounded like they were afraid for their lives. If someone was going to be tortured, he’d rather it was him. 

He stuffed his emotions down deep and tried to go back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 7

Dean was already wearing the old, ill-fitted tactical uniform he'd been provided with for this mission when he walked through the war room door. The room looked more packed than it actually was. The other five members of the team going into the field were already there with Kevin. The crowded effect had less to do with the people and more to do with the piles of rifles, sidearms, and body armor on the table. It was more than they could possibly need for this mission, especially since they needed to travel light, but Dean supposed it was all there so they would have options.

He picked through the pile of Kevlar vests, trying to find one that would fit his frame well enough to provide adequate protection. Though, Dean wasn’t sure whether that protection would mean anything. The guards had more advanced weapons than the Network but something was always better than nothing. There was a surprisingly wide range of handguns to choose from and Dean’s eyes gravitated to a tan pistol that was bit bigger than the rest of the guns in the pile. 

Picking it up, he tested the weight as he turned it over.  _ Colt 1911 _ was emblazoned on one side of the slide and the other side showed the letters  _ USMC _ . It had a laser sight attached below the barrel and it felt perfect in his hand, almost like an extension of his own body when he raised it to point at the table. Nodding to himself, he checked the magazine once before tucking it into the holster strapped to his thigh.

Reaching over to the pile of rifles, Dean grabbed the shorter of the two options and slung it over his shoulder by the strap. He was equally comfortable with M16s and M4s, but the carbine was more his style. Fully equipped, he looked around the room at the others, watching as they prepared in much the same way he had. Kevin had a box full of radio comms. He’d used some of the old earpieces that had been found in the bunker ages ago and modified them so they were similar to the more advanced devices the guards used. Somehow he had managed to encrypt them so their signals couldn’t be intercepted, at least as long as the Gentry didn’t get their hands on them. If they did? Well, they were probably all screwed at that point anyway. 

“Check in every twenty minutes--” Kevin told them handing each team member an earpiece “--until you make it to the Promised Land. Then, maintain radio silence until you rendezvous with Benny. Don’t want to take any additional chances.”

Castiel stood next to Kevin, inserting his own earpiece. “We’ll have the schematics for the tunnels on hand, so you check in at intersections. Move quickly and quietly. Watch each other’s backs.”

The group nodded a solemn agreement, each of their faces set in grim anticipation. Everyone checked their equipment one last time before filing out the door behind Michael. When they stepped out into the night air of the Wasteland, the breeze that hit Dean’s face was surprisingly cool, a stark contrast to his own increased body heat. The adrenaline was already pumping through him, making his heart pound loudly and his cheeks flush. He was already sweating and the body armor certainly didn’t help.

The relative silence of the darkened desert was only interrupted by footfalls on the sand and Michael’s quiet radio check-ins as they made their way to the sewer entrance. It took two of them to move the large iron grate. The hole was wide enough for them to comfortably climb down without having to hand their rifles over to someone to pass down later. Dean almost wished it had taken longer to get there when he made his way into the dank alcove. He gagged and made a concerted effort to keep down the little food he’d managed to eat that day in the face of the overwhelming, horrendous smell that was making his head spin. It was clear he wasn’t alone in that, as they all needed a moment to compose themselves after Michael closed the hatch.

Flashlights clicked on and bathed the muck covered concrete in white light that made Dean’s head spin even more. They gathered for a moment, a few of them tearing loose fabric from the hems of their shirts and using it to cover their mouths and noses. Then, they started toward Revelation. Dean walked on, simultaneously a part of the team and set apart from them. He adjusted the too-loose tactical pants and wondered for a moment if either of his parents had worn them. This certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been worn by a Hunter.

Not for the first time since all this started, Dean regretted his decision to keep Sammy in the dark about the resistance. He had been trying to protect his baby brother but clearly it hadn’t worked out that way. He still couldn’t shake the memory of what had happened to their mother or how it had changed Dad. Sam was too young when it happened to remember but Dean could still see the burnt out remains of their home in the Jericho quadrant as if it was yesterday. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t known his parents were part of the Network. He didn’t find that out until years later, shortly before his father’s death. Once he knew, it hadn’t taken much for Dean to follow in their footsteps, danger to himself be damned. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to lead Sam into the same kind of danger. He was all Dean had left.  He’d only ever meant to keep his brother safe. Clearly, he was doing a great job of that. He was shaken from his thoughts by Michael’s voice checking in with Cas and Kevin and asking for directions. They made their way through the tunnels much more quickly than Dean thought they would and the group took a moment when they reached the exit in the Promised Land.

There was a hand on his arm and Dean looked over to see Charlie smiling at him reassuringly. He returned what he hoped was a convincingly reassured smile. He didn’t really need the reassurance, he just needed his brother. Once he had Sam, he’d be golden. Looking around at the team of Hunters gathered around the ladder, Dean was almost overcome by the feelings of gratitude. He was humbled by the willingness of these people to risk their lives for his brother, a man whom they had never met.

Michael was at the top of the ladder, slowly pushing back the iron cover so he could look around and make sure no one was watching. The exit was smaller than the entrance had been and Dean had to shimmy uncomfortably through to make sure his rifle didn’t clang noisily against the rim of the narrow opening. As Castiel had instructed, they maintained radio silence from the moment the hatch was open. 

It was surprisingly easy to make their way through the Promised Land without being seen. Unlike Purgatory at this time of night, the streets of the inner city were damn near empty, and those few who were out were easily hidden from by using the high walls that separated properties as cover. The trip to the edge of Lucifer’s garden was short. They picked through the surprisingly lush greenery to the door that was their point of entry, surrounding it in a half circle and readying their rifles as Michael rapped twice with a knuckle.

A moment passed in silence and Dean’s nerves tingled as he wondered if they had been set up. The door swung inward revealing a bearded face and intense blue eyes. The inside man had come through after all. He motioned them in one at a time, waving a small device in front of each person as they made their way through the doorway. When it was Dean's turn, he realized it must be the scent neutralizer Cas had been talking about. The air around him was suddenly cleaner and he could smell the fragrant flowers in the garden behind them. He'd been surrounded by the stench of the sewer for so long that he hadn't realized it stuck to him until Benny waved the little tube and it disappeared.

Benny led the team down a long corridor, past closed doors and eventually into a wide room at the base of a large staircase. This was it. Dean tried to calm the rapid thud of his heart against his ribs. He had to stay focused, couldn't lose his cool so close to the goal. Sam was right up those stairs. All Dean had to do was go up there and get him and then lead him safely back to Lebanon.

“We're in,” Michael said, presumably talking to the Handlers on the other end of the radio. He turned to Dean and nodded, holding his rifle at the ready. “Releasing now. Rendezvous in twenty.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded automatically with a nod as he watched Michael lead Charlie and Alicia in the direction of Lucifer's office. He took a deep breath and looked over at Benny. The man looked at Dean with kind eyes.

“Let's go get your brother.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the stairs.

Moving until he was almost shoulder to shoulder with the guard, Dean raised his rifle as Jo and Max fell in behind them. They made their way up the stairs slowly, following Benny’s surefooted lead. The house was eerily silent except for the quiet sound of their feet on the steps. Something niggled at Dean, doubt turning his stomach to knots. The hallway at the top of the stairs was empty. It seemed way too easy. Castiel told them Benny would have trusted allies.

“Where are your other guards?” Jo asked softly behind him, mirroring his concerns. 

“Lucifer only left three of us behind. None of mine. One is on patrol outside, the other has been… dealt with,” Benny replied, frowning. “We’re clear for now, but any longer than that twenty minutes and the guard outside will be inside. We need to move.”

It was a reasonable explanation but it made him even more nervous. This wasn’t what they planned for. His gut told him something wasn’t right here, but he pushed the feeling away to focus on the mission at hand. They passed a few closed doors before Benny pointed to one that had a line of light streaming out from the bottom. The guard stepped back to let Dean take the lead, and he took a deep breath as he put a hand on the knob and turned.

Light flooded the hallway, and Dean was caught somewhere between a cry of outrage and a sigh of relief when he saw Sam on the bed, slouching with his back against the headboard. His brother was there, right in front of him and he was alive. There were bandages on both of his arms, his chest, and two of the fingers on the hand Dean could see were splinted together and wrapped tightly. Sam hadn’t opened his eyes yet, either he was sleeping hard, or he was used to people opening his door at random.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice broke as he stepped into the room, holding back relieved tears. His brother’s eyes shot open upon hearing his voice and he sat up slowly, blinking. Dean’s grip on the rifle tightened, whitening his knuckles when Sam turned toward him and swung his legs off the bed. An angry, swollen wound on one of his cheek’s partially closed the eye on that side and now Dean could see that the other hand was splinted and wrapped as well.

“Dean?” Sam stood shakily and limped toward Dean. If there was more bandaging on his legs, it was covered by the dark jeans he wore. “What are you doing here?” A smile crossed his brother’s face momentarily and Dean watched as the range of emotion played out in his features. He was taking in the uniformed people at his door, their guns, and his older brother. 

Dean couldn’t seem to find words, he let the rifle fall to hang limply from its shoulder strap as he crossed the room to hug Sam. His brother returned the hug, a pained groan escaping him when Dean squeezed a little too hard. 

“Sorry.” Dean released his hold and took a step back, pretending he wasn’t being overwhelmed by guilt at not having shared the Network with his brother. His eyes traveled Sam’s body, looking at all the injuries he could see. He hoped the body armor hid the way he shook with rage. “I’ll explain everything later. So will you. We don’t have a lot of time. We’re here to get you the hell out of here.”

“This must be the resistance,” Sam said matter-of-factly and Dean did a double-take. How the hell did Sam know about the resistance? “Long story. Look, there are others, you have to get them out, too.”

Dean glanced at his watch. Twelves minutes left. “Sam, I only came for you. We don’t have time for this. We gotta go.”

“No. We can’t leave them here, Dean,” Sam pleaded, gesturing toward his own injuries. “Lucifer will kill them.”

“That’s not my problem!” Dean snapped. “I’m supposed to protect you. We didn’t plan for extras.”

Sam’s shoulders squared and hard determination shaped his expression. “I’m not leaving without them. They go or I don’t.”

Dean had heard that tone many times over the years. When Sam made a decision, it was final and he would broker no argument. Dean looked over his shoulder at Jo, who shrugged and stared pointedly back at him. Clearly, no one was going to help him here. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Fine, we’ll take them, too.” Dean glared at his brother, gesturing toward the door. “Make it snappy. Gotta be at the rally point in ten.” He let Sam lead him out the door and watched as he made his way to the other rooms, knocking on the doors before opening them. He was amazed that even in a situation this urgent, his brother still managed to be polite.

“Meg, don’t ask questions. Just trust me,” Sam said, leading a small brunette woman out of the first room. Two men followed shortly after. No one protested, but the two men did not listen to Sam’s request that they not ask questions.

“What’s going on?” The shorter man asked no one in particular. The three breeders huddled together, keeping close to Sam who tried to explain in short, hushed tones that they could trust the gun-toting revolutionaries. Whatever had happened here, the others certainly trusted Sam. They didn’t question a word he said as they followed Dean and the team to the top of the stairs.

“How’s it looking, Michael?” Dean asked into his radio, depressing the nearly invisible button on his belt that would allow the others to hear him speak as they started down the steps with all four civilians in tow.

“ _ Almost done. You?”  _

“Got Sam and three other breeders. Reaching the rendezvous now.” Dean’s eyes flicked to the left and right, nerves higher than ever. This second change in their plans had him on edge. Even the tiniest snag could cost them the mission or, more importantly, their lives.

_ “Dean,” _ Castiel’s voice carried over his radio,  _ “it’s only a slight change. You can still get them out.”  _ It was uncanny how Cas always seemed to know what he was thinking.

“Working on it,” Dean replied.

“ _ Got the intel, on our way.”  _ Michael’s voice cut out and Dean looked behind him at the much larger group than they had planned for, trying to push away the nag at the back of his mind.

He let out a sigh of relief moments later when he saw Michael, Charlie, and Alicia marching down the hallway toward him. Dean didn't miss the triumphant gleam in Charlie's eyes. Everything had been successful so far, even with the unplanned additions to the group. The hard part was over. The only thing left to do now was make it back home. 

That's what Lebanon would be now, for all of them. Dean would never be able to go back to the old apartment in Damascus but instead of being bothered by his inability to return to the place that he’d called home for most of his life, Dean felt a sense of relief. A weight lifted off his weary shoulders. Sam was safe and they were together. That was all that mattered.

Michael clapped him on the shoulder with a grin and said, “Let's get out of here.”

They turned back toward the corridor that would lead them back through the garden door. Falling into a loose formation with the breeders in the middle, Dean took a step forward and then faltered. Surprise took over as a black-clad guard stepped out of the shadows into their path. He should move, his brain told him, but Dean’s body didn’t respond. Benny was the first to turn, looking toward the wide foyer. They could use the front door to leave if they had to but when Dean’s eyes followed Benny’s he saw there were two more guards blocking the way.

When he heard the hollow clack of wooden soles echoing behind them, Dean knew the trap had been sprung.


	9. Chapter 8

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam flinch away from the sound of the footfalls as he turned toward it. He had positioned himself protectively in front of the other breeders, who were huddled together and apparently trying to disappear into the background. He could see the terror in Sam’s eyes but his instinct to protect made him face his fears. He wasn’t the only one. 

Dean was terrified.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They were supposed to get out scot-free. He glanced over his shoulder at Benny, unable to stifle his suspicion of the man, but he seemed as surprised as the rest of them. Dean’s rifle hung limply from its strap and he was sure the guards surrounding them would open fire if he went for it, so instead his fingers gripped the pistol in his thigh holster like a lifeline.

The clacking of Lucifer’s wood-heeled dress shoes gave way to the slow sound of his clapping hands as he and Ruby Cassidy appeared from the shadows of the corridor. The two were a well-matched pair, blonde hair framing cruel faces; the wicked smirk they shared. All in all, they struck imposing and terrifying figures, standing together at the entrance of the hallway. Ruby had her hands casually on her rifle as it rested against her chest and Lucifer stood with all the confidence of a cat toying with its dinner, and it sent rage coursing through Dean’s veins.

“The whole group, all wrapped up like a present. Just missing a pretty bow,” Lucifer said, glancing down at Ruby with a grin, “must be Christmas.” His companion laughed derisively, looking down her nose at the resistance members. 

“Yes, sir,” she replied. Her eyes rested on Benny and she snorted. “And the traitor is among them as well.” He met her gaze defiantly. “You will be dealt with later.”

“I ought to kill you where you stand after what you did to my brother--” Dean interjected as the smug prick was opening his mouth to speak “--you son of a bitch!” 

Lucifer’s smirk grew wider, and he opened his arms to both sides as if he were inviting Dean to take a shot. 

He was sorely tempted to shoot Milton but Dean wasn’t sure the pistol would be out of its holster fast enough for him to pull the trigger before being gunned down by any of the other guards in the room. 

“ _ Hunter Team, come in.”  _ Kevin’s voice sounded in Dean’s ear but he couldn’t answer. The kid’s concern carried over the radio clearly. Dean knew they had missed a check-in, they were supposed to have been out of the house already.

His eyes flitted across the scared but determined faces of his team--his friends. They were still shocked and shifting nervously. He tamped down the burning fire of his anger but tightened his grasp around the grip of the 1911. Dean wouldn’t put them in any more danger than they were already in.

_ “Hunter Team, please respond.” _ It was Castiel’s voice this time, calmer than Kevin’s but till tinged with anxiety.

“And, yet, here I am. Alive and well.” Lucifer waved a dismissive hand in Dean’s direction. “Honestly, part of me hoped it would be harder to get you here, Dean. Your mother never would have been so easily fooled.”

The asshole was baiting him, but Dean refused to respond to it. His jaw clenched and his glare darkened. Next to him, Sam looked visibly taken aback at the mention of mom.

“Dean, what’s he talking about?” Sam asked like he couldn’t control himself. They didn’t have time for this. Dean just shook his head, shooting Sam a warning look.

“Your dear old mom and dad were part of the resistance, Sammy,” Lucifer said. Sam looked almost relieved at that answer. Dean wondered if he’d been imagining that mom had somehow worked for Milton.

_ “Dean… Michael… someone, please respond.”  _

Slowly, Dean let his free hand slide down to his belt, depressing the button so the Handlers in Lebanon would be able to hear what was going on. They wouldn’t be able to respond or send any help but at least they would know.

“None of that explains how you knew we’d be here,” Michael said, his voice surprisingly calm.

Dean met his eyes and saw the fear there. He’d be more concerned if Michael wasn’t afraid. The likelihood that they would all die where they stood was high and getting higher with every passing second. But something there also made him think Michael was trying to buy time, think of some way to get them out of there.

“Well, I’ve known Benny was batting for the other team since Castiel Novak disappeared.” Ruby’s eyes narrowed at the man as she spoke.  “It was just a matter of misinformation and I knew when you would come for Sam.”

“But how could you have known about Dean? Or that he would want to rescue his brother?” Charlie’s voice shook but she sounded genuinely curious, like she was trying to clear up the confusion of the whole team.

“Once I found out that Balthazar forged both of their records, it wasn’t much of a stretch that they were connected to your little resistance movement.” He rubbed a finger down one eyebrow as he spoke. “One little phone call to Azazel to fix everything up, and Sam was up on the block. Of course, when I set this in motion, I hadn’t planned for Sam knowing nothing about the rebellion.

“I thought it would be one of those things passed down from parent to child. I was truly surprised to find out he was utterly clueless during our little...  _ interrogations _ ,” Lucifer said the word with so much malice that Sam somehow managed to visibly shrink into himself in the corner of Dean’s eye. “But all’s well that ends well, I suppose. Things may not have gone exactly according to my original plans, but you’re all here now.”

Dean tore his eyes away from Lucifer to look around at his team. Max and Alicia standing close together, hands on their rifles, faces stern and resigned in the low light. Charlie’s usually bright eyes dulled by fear. Michael and Jo just behind her, faces hidden from view. Dean couldn’t see Benny’s face either, but he was the only one with his weapon up, pointing at the guard that blocked the way back to the garden door. Sam looked terrified, exhausted, and somehow brazenly recalcitrant as he used his large body to shield his huddled companions from Lucifer’s eyes. The other civilians were petrified into silent stillness with the Hunters surrounding them as if forming a defensive wall between them and their assailants.

Part of Dean was sickened by their inability to do something more than cower, panic-stricken and tearful, but he understood. It must have taken enormous willpower just to follow Sam out of their rooms. Now that their opportunity to escape seemed to have vanished, that willpower had drained from them. 

Did they even stand a chance? They were surrounded, but not outnumbered, and they all wore the Kevlar vests they’d picked up at Lebanon, not that it would do any good if they aimed for the head. The guards looked like they were itching to pull the trigger. In the state Dean and the other Hunters were in, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to get the jump on them.

“You revolutionaries have been a thorn in my side for so long.” Lucifer’s voice snapped Dean’s attention back to him. He blanched when he realized that while he hadn’t been paying attention, Lucifer had drawn his own gun. The polished silver of the impossibly long barrel gleamed in the dim light. The revolver was huge, the black grip peeking above its wielder’s fist like the hand was far too small to contain it. Even the hammer was oversized as he cocked it back with a resounding click, rotating the cylinder. “Especially you Winchesters. Fortunately, I think I’ve found a way to solve both of my problems.”

Dean’s heart thudded violently against his ribcage as Lucifer took a step forward, putting him face to face with the darkness at the end of the muzzle, which seemed to radiate the anticipation of releasing a death-dealing bullet on its victim. It was a horrifying experience, but Dean refused to let the terror he felt show on his face. He steeled his expression and defiantly looked Lucifer in the eye.

“Killing us won’t stop the resistance.” Jo’s voice was strong behind him. He kept his eyes on Lucifer but he could hear the shuffle of bodies moving closer together behind him. Behind the master of the house, his chief guard had raised her rifle in earnest and the other guards in his peripheral vision had followed suit. They were ready to massacre the Hunters.

Lucifer’s eyes shifted to Jo and the smirk on his face dropped away, leaving a much more serious, sinister sneer. “Maybe you’re right, blondie. But I don’t have to kill  _ all  _ of you.” A long, tense moment of silence passed and then the large barrel of the revolver was swinging swiftly away from Dean’s face. He recoiled as the bang of a large caliber bullet being propelled from the revolver echoed around him and the flash at the muzzle blinded him. The solid thunk of impact, then Max’s head jerking backward so hard Dean could swear he heard the vertebrae breaking. The force of the shot sent the kid’s body reeling several feet before he finally crumpled to the floor. 

Alicia’s piercing scream shocked Dean back into the normal passing of time and he blinked away the bright flecks of light impairing his vision. There was pop of gunfire behind him and he jumped, barely managing to draw his pistol with shaking hands. No amount of training could have prepared him for this. He was frozen in place with his gun in hand but pointed at no one. He could hardly hear the chaos past the rushing of blood in his ears and the raucous, rapid pounding of his heart.

“Get the breeders out!” Benny shouted behind Dean.

Breeders. Sam.

He had to get Sam out of there.

Dean was moving again, firing wildly in the direction of a guard. Someone was shouting in his ear but he couldn’t make out the words of the cacophony of the firefight. There was no time to look around, no time to check on his team, he just had to hope they found some cover, something to protect themselves until they got out. 

Bullets were flying everywhere. It was impossible to track where they came from as they zinged by Dean. Someone crashed into his side and he stumbled.

“Jo, Charlie, get them the hell out of here!” Michael shouted.

Dean fired off a shot, knocking a guard to the floor, and the slide locked back. Fumbling with the magazine, it took far too long to reload his weapon and start shooting again. He finally caught a glimpse of Sam and the other Breeders.  His back was to Dean as he forcefully pushed the brown-haired woman toward Jo. 

Dean was trying to reach his brother when he heard the boom of Lucifer’s gun again. Doing his best to ignore it he ran toward the Breeders. Charlie and Sam had just gotten the men on their feet when the short one’s body jerked backward and slumped, a red stain blooming in the fabric that covered his chest. The other man almost followed him down but Sam stopped him pushing him toward the girl.

“There’s no time, we have to get out of here!” Sam screamed at him.

He was right, they didn’t have much time. Somehow the corridor leading back out the way they’d come was clear, the body of the guard that had stood  there fallen to the floor. What was left of the team was already moving in that direction.

Dean looked over his shoulder. The chief guard’s body was on the floor and Lucifer stumbled forward.

“Dean!” Charlie yelled. “Let’s go!”

He was backing toward them, almost to the corridor, when Lucifer raised his revolver and Dean’s heart stopped.

It was aimed at Sam.

“Sammy!” Dean cried out, running toward him and his brother turned to look as Lucifer’s gun boomed again. 

Nothing, no one, else mattered in that moment. 

Praying to any god that might hear him, Dean shoved Sam toward the others, the group already in the corridor. The impact knocked him off his feet. There was hot, wet sensation spreading through his abdomen and he pressed his hand to it, looking down slowly. There was blood on his fingers and deep ache settling into his gut. The bullet had ripped through the Kevlar vest, leaving a hole in his stomach big enough that he could stick a finger into it. 

His body slumped to the floor, his limbs weak.

Sam screamed his name.

Good. Sam was alive.

Dean looked up in his direction to see Michael pulling him back toward the door. They had to get Sam out. He rolled to face the opposite direction. Someone dragged him backward.

They were almost out but Lucifer was coming.

“Go,” Dean said to whoever was pulling him toward the door. “I got your back.”

It was painful to talk. To breathe. He was dying. The least he could do was make sure whoever was left got out. 

Dean did his best to block the door as his vision blurred and got fuzzy around the edges. They were gone. There were bodies everywhere but none of them belonged to Sam.

He saved Sam. Nothing else mattered.

Lucifer’s clacking footsteps approached Dean and he looked up, blood dripping from his mouth as he smiled up into the business end of the revolver.

A beat passed and Dean heard a familiar voice. “I told you not to do this, Dean.”

Lucifer turned toward  it. “Gabriel?”

Dean looked up at the leader of the resistance as he approached. “I… saved him.”

Blood was pouring from him, seeping into the red pool already covering the floor beneath him. He was cold--shivering--everywhere except the gaping wound in his stomach. More blood spewed from his mouth when he coughed. But he still smiled triumphantly at the Miltons.

Lucifer looked stricken. It was the first time since Dean had seen any real emotion on the man’s face. “You know these people?” he asked Gabriel, brandishing his gun. “You knew this was happening?”

“I tried to stop them, I really did,” Gabriel said. 

Dean was giddy with blood loss and he snorted to himself. He could see the sibling resemblance between the two of them now that they stood side by side. Why was that funny?

“You knew about this and you didn’t warn me?” Lucifer’s hand tightened dangerously around his gun. Not that it mattered now.

Dean’s breaths were shallow and labored. His fingers were numb and his vision was fading. At least it didn’t hurt anymore.

“Of course I didn’t warn you, Luci.” Gabriel rolled his eyes as he responded mockingly. “I mean, really, what was I supposed to do? Show up and tell you about how the resistance was going to raid your house?” He was standing close to Lucifer and he gestured toward Dean. “Poor Dean here just doesn’t know when to listen.” He smiled down at the man with something akin to affection. “But, you know what? He was right.

“This is for Anna,” Gabriel said as he leaned in close to Lucifer. Dean saw a silvery glint in his hand as he drove it into Lucifer’s ribcage.

Lucifer’s eyes went wide with shock and as his fingers went slack, the gun slipped slowly from his grip to clatter uselessly onto the floor. 

Gabriel held him there, never breaking eye contact as the life drained from his brother.

Lucifer’s body falling freely from Gabriel’s arms was the last thing Dean saw as his eyes closed.

His brother was safe. His job done.

Dean was happy.


	10. Epilogue

The war room was nearly empty for the first time in days, so Sam ducked inside with the gray steel tray from the cafeteria. He couldn’t stand to eat in there. It was always so crowded. There were so many faces he didn’t know. It was overwhelming, but Sam did his best to grin and bear the looks of pity he got from the strangers. Many of them had known his brother, it seemed, and all of them were sorry for his loss. 

It was little comfort.

Services were held for those that fell very shortly after their arrival at headquarters. The massive conference room they’d used was filled with people who knew Max, Alicia, and Dean. They were kind enough to include Ketch in the ceremony, though the only people in attendance that had known him were the Breeders that escaped. It was touching. Sam was glad when it was over.

From the moment he’d decided Lucifer was right about Dean and the resistance, Sam was  committed to becoming a part of it if he ever had the chance. Now, more than ever, he knew it was something he had to do. His parents, and now his brother, had given their lives for the Network, trying to do the right thing. He couldn’t--wouldn’--let their deaths be in vain. He’d been greeted by a tearful, blue-eyed man when he and Michael had arrived back at Lebanon.

Castiel, as Sam learned he was called, was one of Dean’s closest friends. Somehow, he and Kevin, a kid who was too young to be a soldier as far as Sam was concerned, had heard most of what happened over the radio comms. Someone’s mic had been keyed before bodies started dropping.

The first day Sam spent in the base, he’d been sent to receive medical treatment and then assigned a room so he could sleep. He’d thought there was no way he would be able to sleep after watching so many people die, but he’d been wrong. It had been eighteen hours when he woke up. Of course, as soon as he did, Sam was forced to repeat his entire story, countless times. They called it debriefing. 

Sam called it exhausting and painful.

The fourth day, he’d finally had some free time. He used it to find the other breeders that had made it out of Lucifer’s house. He hadn’t seen them at all since the funeral. 

Meg was happy to see him, she’d run up and hugged him as soon as he made it through the door. She had already been through her own debriefing and seemed to be settling in well. She was assigned a tutor to learn how to read and was hoping to receive a job assignment soon. She desperately wanted to help the people who had sacrificed so much.

Gadreel, on the other hand, was well enough, but he couldn’t even look Sam in the eye. He knew that Gad blamed him for Ketch’s death. He wasn’t the only one. The deaths that had occured the night of his rescue were something he would carry on his conscience for the rest of his life, and it would probably be a long one. He hoped that Gadreel would eventually find it in himself to forgive Sam. He sorely needed friends.

He was sitting at the big table in the war room, staring at the food growing cold on his tray. Eating was important. He needed to regain his strength if he was going to throw his lot in with the Network but he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it. So many people had died because of him and now all he had was unfamiliar faces that looked at him with pity. The only exceptions to that seemed to be Michael, Castiel, and Gabriel. They all seemed to know instinctively that he didn’t want, or need, their pity. What Sam needed was something to do.

Sighing, he stood and carried his still full tray back to the cafeteria, scraping his dinner into a trash receptacle and shoving the tray through the slot in the wall. Sam glanced up at the clock looming high and large on the wall.  _ 19:16 _ . Maybe he could get away from all the noise of the bunker. He headed toward the entrance. 

Sunsets were becoming something of a ritual for him. They were the only real quiet time he had and the only way to remind himself that there was beauty in this world. There was a reason to live, to fight. Under the purple and pink sky, Sam could convince himself that his brother’s death meant something. 

There was a dune not far from the outer door of the underground base and Sam went to it immediately. Sitting with his arms around his legs, pulling his knees into his chest, he stared up at the darkening sky. The setting sun refracted through the clouds, casting a glow of orange across the sandy haze of the Wasteland. It was interspersed with rich shades of blue, purple, and red, and it was more beautiful than anything he’d seen during his time in the Promised Land. Sam hadn’t been there for long when a quiet, familiar presence took its usual place beside him on the small hill.

“How are you holding up?” Gabriel asked, not looking over at him.

“Not great.” Sam glanced over at him. The man beside him looked almost nothing like he had that night at the bottom of Lucifer’s stairs. He was softer, more vulnerable, and grieving. It was something they had in common. “I don’t know how to live my life without him.”

“Your brother was a good man.” Gabriel didn’t say anything else but Sam could almost feel him wishing he could say the same about his own sibling. “Guess Benny took a shine to you, he’s been asking after you.”

“I’ll go see him tomorrow.” Sam stretched his legs out in front him and leaned back on his hands. “I wish Dean had listened to you when you told him not to come after me.” It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed the sentiment but he still felt it needed saying. 

“He was right to go after you, Sam,” Gabriel said, looking over at him, “and if I hadn’t been such a damn coward for so long, they all might still be alive.”

Sam didn’t have an answer for that. He stared silently up at the ever blackening sky, picking out the stars that were starting to become visible. He and Gabriel had somehow been united by their common grief. Everyone here had lost someone but it wasn’t the same. 

Sam and Gabe were both responsible for the death of an older brother they’d spent most of their lives looking up to. There was no one else who understood their grief the way they understood each other. Sam wasn’t quite sure he would call them friends, at least not yet, but he liked sharing the sunset with Gabriel. He liked being able to talk openly about his emotional state without judgment.

“You’re not a coward,” Sam said finally. And he believed it. “In your shoes, I don’t know if I could’ve done what you did.”

“I’m still not sure it was the right thing to do.” Gabriel shifted so he was laying on his back. “What I did? It’s an act of war. The Gentry already know it was me. They know the Network exists. I’m sure they’ve already taken all this information to the Originators. People will die in droves, Sam. That’s on me.”

“No, it isn’t. That’s on them. My parents? Dean? Every single person who has given their life for this resistance. All of those deaths are on the Gentry.” Sam knew that was true but it didn’t change the guilt he felt. It probably wouldn’t change Gabriel’s either. “And if this has started a war? Well, we just have to win it. For them.”

Gabriel nodded. 

They stayed on the dune, in companionable silence, long after the sun dipped below the horizon. Sam would stand by what he said. He would do whatever it took to make sure they won this war on behalf of everyone who had already died, everyone who would die. Things couldn’t be allowed to continue the way they were. And though they had already been through so much in such a short period of time, both of them shared the knowledge that this was only the beginning.


End file.
